


Poison 3 - Season of Goodwill

by Ginnybag



Series: Poison [3]
Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: HInts of 6x9, Hints of 11x13, M/M, Technically Zechs is underage here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-22 19:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginnybag/pseuds/Ginnybag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas in Salzburg for Treize and Zechs, but things aren't going smoothly. </p><p>Haunted by his recent mission and doubting Treize's loyalty, Zechs provokes a blistering argument and an old friend learns things she was never meant to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Zechs Marquise felt the wheels of his plane touch down on the surface of the runway in Austria and sighed silently to himself – home. He was home.

Two months commanding a mission to the L2 colonies had left him tired – more tired than he could ever remember feeling before – and not merely physically.

Bodily exhaustion was familiar, an almost welcome companion to someone trained as he was to pilot the huge mobile suits of his chosen military unit. Such fatigue simply meant that he was keeping up enough hours with the mecha that his fighting edge would remain sharp, and any cadet was comfortable enough with the nearly constant condition to be able to ignore it completely within six months of commencing their training.

At first, he had believed that the feeling was being caused by the lingering traces of the injuries he had sustained in his brief, bloody skirmish with the ever-growing rebel forces. But the ghost of the punishment his muscles had taken, the continual nagging drain of the headache that throbbed behind his right eye and would not settle, the way the air seemed to be constantly chilly did not explain why he felt as he did. Those things were annoying, to be certain, but they did not explain his listlessness.

He felt… weary. A sinking, apathetic weight that he could not shift and did not particularly, after almost three weeks of carrying it, care to try to anymore.

If he thought about it hard enough, the symptoms seemed familiar, but he could not recall experiencing them before. They hovered at the back of his mind like a picture that was incomplete – as though he had the clues, but not the conclusion.

With a lacklustre shake of his head, he collected his bag from the storage rack and stepped from the plane into the freezing air and the falling snow.

Though he had landed at the New Edwards base almost eight hours before, Zechs hadn't felt as though he were home, back on Earth, until a few moments before.

That feeling had nothing at all to do with rational thinking and a great deal to do with the slender, well-wrapped figure standing just to one side of the runway; his distinctive auburn hair hidden under his hat and his aquiline, handsome features all but shrouded in his heavy coat and scarf.

Zechs felt his soul lighten a little at the sight and he raised one hand in a wave as he crossed the sodden ground to the car.

"Get in, you fool!" the figure berated him when he got into earshot. "What were you thinking, coming to Austria at this time of year dressed like that? Anyone would think you'd never been here before!"

Zechs glanced down at his own light uniform cloak and shrugged. "I wasn't thinking about the weather, clearly."

"Oh, clearly!"

The pilot offered no resistance as he was bundled into the back of the state car and, in fact, smiled when the door was slammed shut, closing out the frigid air of the airport in favour of the gentle warmth generated by the car's heaters.

He glanced around the passenger compartment, his smile broadening as he took in the deep leather seats, the drinks cabinet and the privacy screen – unmistakeably made of one-way glass – separating the two of them from the driver.

Treize Khushrenada lifted his snow-dappled hat off his head, unwound his scarf and shrugged out of his coat, laying them all to one side on the seat opposite before turning to his companion and looking him over from head to toe. "You've lost weight," he complained.

"Forgive me if rations and hospital food aren't entirely to my taste. No doubt I'll put it back if you have anything to say about it." Zechs ran his own inspection. "Not that you can say anything to anyone about being too slim."

The general shrugged. Out of his imposing Specials uniform and dressed as casually as he was in woollen jumper and trousers, the elder man was almost delicately slender. "I'll have you know that my weight is perfect for my height," he retorted.

"Yes, I'm sure that it is," Zechs teased back.

Treize repeated his shrug, though with the barest hint of a smile, and then looked squarely at the younger man. "Is that to be your greeting then?"

"It was more courteous than yours!"

"I told you – Rank Hath Its Privileges. And that wasn't my greeting; that was an exclamation torn from me by your sheer stupidity – anyone would think you wanted to get frostbite."

"Oh, no. Most unpleasant."

"Absolutely."

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, eyes the colour of the deepest cold beyond the windows of the car meeting those the hue of purest sapphires, and then they both smiled, breaking some indefinable tension lingering between them after two months apart.

"I have missed you," Treize murmured, laying one long fingered hand on the other's arm.

"I've missed you as well… talking to you by email just isn't the same."

"No, it isn't," Treize agreed. Cautiously, the older man reached forward and lifted away the heavy silver helmet that the younger was forced to wear to conceal his true identity. The metal was cold after its exposure to the wind outside and he tossed it aside in disgust. "Promise me something?" he continued, running fingers through the chill silk of the pilot's waist length hair and making him shiver a little.

"What?"

"Don't put that back on until we go back to Luxembourg?"

Zechs stilled. "Whilst we're alone, of course not."

Treize shook his head. "Not at all."

"I… can't do that. Not with so many people coming to your party. It only takes one of them to recognise me and…."

"Wear the dark glasses you used until last year and tie your hair back."

"Treize, I can't…" Zechs repeated, pulling away from the touch on his hair.

"Please. As a Christmas present?"

Zechs closed his eyes. "For everything except the party tomorrow night. That I won't risk – I've seen your guest list, there are too many people attending who could recognise me if they looked closely enough."

"Alright."

Strong fingers began moving again, soothing away the strain of the last few seconds, and the blond left his eyes closed, drifting into a state somewhere between sleeping and waking under the rhythmic touch.

A ghostly pressure on his lips drew him back to reality a little and made him smile.

"I'm sorry; I don't want you to do anything that will make you uncomfortable," the general apologised quietly.

"I know."

"Good."

The pressure on his lips was a little firmer this time and the pilot opened his eyes to see Treize looking at him from a little distance away.

"Welcome home," Treize murmured and leaned in, closing the distance.

Zechs gave himself over to their embrace, sinking into it as his eyes fluttered shut again.

As was his wont, the older man had found a new way to kiss him – something which would have been a more demanding challenge had the blond ever shared more than a half dozen such in his life, and all but one of those with the general.

Always before, the auburn haired man had used his caresses to communicate something to the younger man. Their first kiss, shared in a frozen park one late evening in Luxembourg, had been a cautious, dizzying expression of buried longing and love, intense and emotional. The next two had been a firestorm of passion, insistent and arousing, searing him and tearing violent reaction from his body.

The last kisses they had shared had been full of regret and worry. Stolen in the final minutes they had spent together, the general had used his hold on his partner to show his fear for his safety.

This kiss, though, demanded nothing from him and pressed nothing on him in return. The weight of the other man's mouth on his was merely that: a soft, purely physical pleasure that grounded him and began to ease the trauma of the last few months.

Zechs allowed his head to fall back against the supple leather of the seat and sighed. "You know me too well," he mumbled. "That was perfect."

Treize chuckled and slid his arm around the younger man, pulling on his arm until his head slid from the back of the seat onto his shoulder. "I don't know you too well at all, but I do know how you feel right now. I've felt it myself."

Zechs tensed, starting to sit up. "I…"

"Shh." Tapered fingers began working through his hair again in soothing strokes. "Just go to sleep now. We can discuss it later."

"Yes…sir."

"Shh, Zechs."

\---------------------------------

The pilot woke gradually, aware of the low thrum of the engine of the car and a snug weight surrounding his body as he floated up from dreams he immediately forgot.

He sighed and began to roll over.

Something latched onto his arm, preventing the movement, and it was then that he remembered that he had been sitting upright when sleep had claimed him.

The hand on his arm let go and resumed its previous duty of casually petting his hair.

Zechs let his eyes open and he looked around as he tried to work out what had happened.

He was lying down, full length across one of the seats of the car, his head resting lightly on something warm and firm. Quick glances showed him his boots on the floor, tucked into the corner, and his cloak folded on the opposite seat next to Treize's coat, hat and scarf.

Slowly, he turned himself onto his back and peered down at the blanket that was covering him, wondering how it had got there.

Quiet laughter made him look up.

"Good afternoon."

The blond swallowed. "What happened…?"

Treize was smiling at him, looking down. "Obviously, I moved you. Forgive me, but I thought you'd be more comfortable like this and my arm would not have appreciated you lying on my shoulder for the best part of three hours."

"Three hours?" Zechs asked, startled.

"Hmm, yes. We're almost at the estate. I would have had to wake you myself in ten minutes or so."

"Oh… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

Treize closed the book he had been reading and set it aside. "What are you apologising for? You must have needed to sleep or you would have roused when I moved you."

"I haven't seen you for two months and the first thing I do is fall asleep!?"

Treize smiled. "Yes, and I was expecting you to. Truly, I don't mind – you make rather a good lap-warmer."

Unexpected colour flushed into the pilot's face as he realised exactly how and where he was lying, and he began to sit up, pushing the blanket down as he did so.

The general caught him by the shoulders and held him. "Be still," he commanded.

Treize genuinely hadn't minded having his younger companion resting in his lap at all – he had been telling the truth when he said he made a good lap-warmer. The steady, comfortable weight of him was relaxing and the hushed little snuffling sounds he made under the careless rhythm of the general's hand were delightful.

He wondered if the younger man knew how trusting a gesture it was that he had allowed himself to sleep in his commander's arms at all.

The blush had faded from Zechs' perfect skin and he was looking up at the older man, puzzled – there had been enough strength in the hands on his shoulders to force him to stay still had he chosen not to co-operate. Unconsciously, he began to resist the hold and Treize sighed and patted his arm before letting him go so that he could complete his movement and sit upright. "May I ask you something?" the elder man asked calmly.

"Certainly."

"Why are you uncomfortable?"

The younger man abruptly fixed his attention on replacing his boots upon his feet. "You're my commanding officer, a Colonel, not a…a pillow!"

Said Colonel laughed. "Aren't I also," he replied when he calmed, "supposedly your friend? Your lover?"

"That's not the point."

"Yes, I think you will find that it is the point. Precisely so, in fact."

The blond shook his head, stubbornly.

"Look at me."

Reflex caused the younger man to obey him and they stared at one another.

"Zechs, I know you can't forget that I'm your commander and I can understand the reasons why – however much I may dislike it – but lately… It's almost as though, once you began wearing your mask, you also began to forget that I was anything other than your commander. It's troubling…"

"Has it not occurred to you that it is this mask which allows me to be your friend?" Zechs asked him, his eyes showing his seriousness, and not a little heat. "All that allows it, in fact. You should remember that, in your hatred of it," he added coldly.

Treize frowned, shivering slightly in the sudden blast of anger.

Sitting back, he rubbed the still-warm place on his leg where the pilot had pressed against him and contemplated calling on his diplomat's tongue to smooth the situation for a moment, before it dawned on him just how much Zechs' words had stung. Did the younger man truly believe that the two of them had no common ground without the roles they were forced to play? "Do you really believe that or were you simply trying to upset me?" he asked quietly. "If so, you succeeded admirably – that honestly did hurt."

Zechs went still for a moment, and then pressed one hand to his eyes for a second, as though the gesture helped him to press himself back under control. When he looked up, his gaze was confused and apologetic. "I don't know. I'm just… I'm sorry."

The car turned through highly wrought gates and pulled smoothly up the long, grey shale drive before coming to a halt outside the door.

Treize picked up his coat, hat and scarf and moved for the door. Just before he opened it, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "The point I was trying to make is that even our friendship will struggle if you continue the way you are going. There's absolutely no point in even trying to be anything else to one another if you can't forget, when it's necessary and we are together, that I am your senior in rank."

"I know that!"

"Do you? You were my friend long before you were my subordinate. Once, you would have taken sleeping like that as perfectly normal."

"I was a child then."

"Yes, and you trusted me, liked me to touch you. You told me once it was the only thing that could make you feel safe."

The pilot bit his lip. "It still is." He blinked. "Forgive me, please. I don't know what's wrong with me… I've felt so out of sorts for weeks now."

Treize looked at the younger man, seeing confusion reign in his pale eyes, noting that they were ringed in shadows. There was the trace of a bruise on his forehead, and a stiffness to his movements that betrayed how he still ached. The general shook his head.

The boy had spoken no more than the truth – Prince Milliardo Peacecraft would never have been friends with Colonel Treize Khushrenada and, in many ways, the helmet was the dividing line between that Prince and the soldier who was his friend. Given that, could he blame the boy for allowing the difference in their ranks to remain at the front of the soldier's consciousness?

The truth shouldn't wound.

Treize smiled at him, opened the car door and climbed out gracefully. Once he was balanced, he leaned down and offered his hand to the blond. "Come on. It's absolutely freezing out here!"

Zechs took it and slid along the seat and out of the car, coming to stand hesitantly at his commander's side in the snow.

The older man rested a hand on his shoulder and guided him into the house; his firm touch both his own apology and his forgiveness. "Are you hungry?" he asked as the front door of the house closed behind them.

"Isn't there some sort of meal tonight?" the blond quizzed.

"Yes, but not till quite late. It might well be getting on to ten o'clock before we sit down, so eating now won't have any real effect."

The younger man registered his words, but he merely shook his head. "I'll wait."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm not at all hungry."

Treize handed his outerwear to the maid who hurried up at that moment and directed her to take Zechs' bag to his usual suite opposite the general's own rooms.

The girl bobbed and disappeared to do just that.

"I've asked the staff to put Lady Une and Captain Noin in the guest quarters on the next corridor along from our rooms, so we shouldn't be disturbed."

The pilot nodded, understanding, he thought, what it was the auburn-haired man was implying. It was a more than pleasant notion, but he didn't let it show. "When are they arriving?" he asked. "Or are they here already?"

"No, they aren't here yet. They should arrive in a few hours – they're coming in from Luxembourg by train."

"I see."

They stood for a moment, and then Treize squared his shoulders and began steering the younger man in the direction of the staircase. "Now, you look as though you could do with a stiff drink, a bath and another hour or two of sleep. Certainly you should get out of that uniform, at the least, so come along."

Zechs could remember many visits to this house in years past and he had always delighted in the rich wooden floors covered in places with ancient, vividly coloured, woven wool rugs and the pale furniture, chosen to match the white walls.

The majority of the structure had been old in the pre-Colony days, though it was perfectly maintained, and the estate as a whole exuded a sense of timelessness. The weight of Family history spanning hundreds of years appealed to the Prince in Zechs that he thought he had buried over a decade before.

The estate was picturesque in any season, but at this time of year, with the grounds buried under several feet of pristine snow, it was something from a fairytale and he knew that both Lady Une, if she hadn't been here before, and Noin would fall in love with it as soon as they caught sight of the house from the road.

Treize, having grown up on the estate, appeared to notice none of this as he ushered the blond through the door to his apartment and manoeuvred him into sitting on the edge of the wide bed. Zechs glanced round, recalling details he had forgotten in the years he had been away from this room he had spent so much of his childhood in.

"I'll have someone draw you a bath and then you can tell me all about L2 whilst you soak," the general told him, picking up a phone and issuing such orders.

"I'd rather talk about the plans for the next few days, if you don't mind. It's Christmas Eve – I don't want to think about anything unhappy," Zechs replied when the phone went down. "And you've already had my official report, so there isn't much to add."

"Very well. I'll get you that drink."

Zechs watched as the trim figure strode from the room and closed the door behind him.


	2. 2

Treize came back into the room just in time to pass the maid who had been given the task of drawing Zechs's bath on her way out. He turned just behind the door to set the glasses and the bottle of cognac he'd brought with him on a low table under the window, broke the seal on the bottle and poured the honey coloured liquid into one of the snifters.

Glass in hand, he crossed the room towards the door of the en-suite bathroom.

Zechs's uniform was thrown in some attempt at neatness across the sheets of the bed, his boots standing beside it, one of them fallen onto its side.

Smiling for no real reason, the general knocked twice – clean, sharp raps – on the door, and then pushed the handle and opened it.

The pilot was lying covered to his shoulders in the deep, hot water and he looked up as the older man came into the room.

"Enjoying yourself?" Treize asked, closing the bathroom door and leaning against it.

"Hmm," Zechs agreed lazily. "I think you may have addicted me to baths."

"Ah, good. That was the idea." Treize held out his hand and offered the glass. "Here, drink."

"I shouldn't – it will go straight to my head."

"So? One glass won't be enough to get you drunk and even if it did, you have hours yet before you are required to be anywhere that necessitates your sobriety."

"True." Zechs pulled one arm from the water and took the glass, sipping at the liquid appreciatively.

Treize used the shift in Zechs's attentions to run his eyes over the younger man's body, what he could see of it, analysing, frowning at the fading bruises and healing cuts that marred the faintly golden skin. The pilot made a noise low in his throat and the older man looked up to see a stain of colour on his cheeks. "My apologies…," Treize offered. "I was looking for injuries."

"Ah." The blush did not fade. "Silly of me to be embarrassed, isn't it?" Zechs asked a moment later.

Treize smiled gently. "I can't say I understand why you would be, but then I doubt the Lightning Baron has ever been described as silly."

"Thank you." Smoothly, the pilot tipped his hand and his head back and finished the cognac, using the alcohol to steady his nerves.

Treize retrieved the glass when Zechs hesitated, looking around for somewhere to put it, and set it on the floor. "You have to be the only person I know who can maintain parade ground posture in a bathtub," he teased, smiling gently to take any sting from the words.

Zechs looked away. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't apologise, just relax!" Treize paused as a thought flashed across his mind. "I can leave if my being here is making you uncomfortable. I didn't think you'd mind, but if you do…?" he asked.

The blond shook his head, causing his long, silvery hair to swirl through the water. "It's not you. It hurts to sit any other way."

"Oh?"

"The restraints on the Leo may well have saved my life, but they did their own damage."

"Ah, of course." Now that he was looking for it, the general could see that the worst of the bruising on the other's upper body was centred roughly around the position of the restraining harness – faintly reddened brownish marks that would have been horrid at the time.

He'd had similar bruises himself a time or two and he could clearly remember how any position that stretched the underlying muscles, even slightly, was horribly painful. Until the injuries healed, good posture became a necessity and not a virtue.

Treize stood up, his eyes glinting and a speculative smile playing around his mouth. "Slide forward," he instructed, patting his companion on one bare shoulder.

The younger man obeyed instantly – the habit of half a life time – and the general perched on the edge of the bath behind him. "What are you doing?" Zechs asked, as the ever-present bottle of rose oil vanished from the shelf beside the bath for a moment.

"Hush – this might hurt at first."

Treize coated his fingers in the oil, and then let them rest on the other's bare skin, on either side of his throat, pressing inwards just enough to be felt.

The pilot trembled slightly and Treize smiled.

Fragile-looking fingers dug into layered muscle with a strength it didn't seem possible they could possess, pinching the tissue until the younger man hissed with pain. "Bear with me… it will get better," the elder man soothed.

"I hope so!" Zechs said, his voice sharp. "It's…somewhat less than comfortable!"

"I know it is – just a moment more."

Zechs stiffened, drawing a quick breath to tell the general to stop as the pain spiked sharply, and then he slumped as it faded away to almost nothing for the first time in days. "Oh…" he breathed.

"Better?" Treize asked.

"Yes… where did you learn…?"

"Oh, here and there," the general chuckled. "A friend from the academy specialised in it, and oddly enough, Lady Une is quite talented, too."

A flash of jealousy made the blond bite his lip; he didn't want to think about Treize's assistant touching him in any manner, let alone one as intimate as this.

He was distracted in the next moment as warm hands slid lower down his spine, working at the next set of abused muscles and the next until he was floating on the feeling, his head resting on his drawn up knees.

Slippery fingers were replaced by cool soap suds and the roughness of the sponge as the oil was washed away in gentle strokes.

Treize smiled at the sight the younger man was making, then rolled his sleeves up and turned on the shower head attached to the taps. Warm water spilled from it and he gave the pilot's back a last rinse before turning the spray onto his hair.

"Ohh…" Zechs groaned, as the water soaked through his hair on payed against his scalp.

The general chuckled again. "You do like that?" he asked.

"Yes…" Zechs sighed.

"I rather thought you might. You'll have to sit up and help me – I haven't the first idea of how to wash this much hair!"

The blond uncurled slowly, and then stretched, before pulling his hair to the top of his head and working the soap through it with practiced ease. He let it fall back down his spine and Treize took that as his cue to rinse it out.

Zechs shivered under the weight of the water and practically purred when the older man used his free hand to squeeze the soap free.

Eventually, Treize turned off the shower and stood from his seat on the side of the bath. Pulling one of the towels from the stack that the maid had left into his hands, he unfolded it and held it out. "Come on, that water is starting to get cold."

The younger man did as he bade and climbed from the water, taking the towel and winding it around his hair.

Treize had to laugh at the picture he presented.

Zechs cocked an eyebrow at him, as if daring him to say something, and then returned the smile.

The auburn-haired man picked up a second towel and threw it around his companion's shoulders, wrapping it tightly before rubbing vigorously.

The pilot used his towel to get the worst of the water from his hair, then tossed it over the cupboard and tried to take the general's towel from him. "I can dry myself," he commented, when the older man wouldn't let go.

"I know, but I want to."

Zechs shrugged, apparently accepting this, but the blush was back.

Treize finished his work, dropped the towel and picked up the other's robe, holding it out for him and then tying off the sash.

Zechs forced himself to stand still as his friend fussed over him as though he were a child still and was taken completely off guard when the hands which had been tying his belt slid around his waist and drew him forward.

"I did miss you," Treize murmured in his ear. "I near to panicked when I didn't hear from you."

Zechs bit his lip. "I didn't mean to…"

"Shh. I know."

The older man closed the little gap remaining between them until the blond was resting completely against him, smiling when Zechs returned the embrace. He placed a light kiss against the boy's throat, feeling the pulse jump and inhaling the clean scent of him.

Zechs sank into the other's warmth, holding him in turn and with matching strength. He'd forgotten how safe he felt in his commander's arms, despite having fallen asleep in them not more than a few hours earlier. The child he had been only a few years before had quickly become accustomed to hiding from a world which seemed bent on punishing him in these arms.

Memories of his childhood drew his thoughts to the only other person still alive who had played any true part in it – his sister – and from there to the little girl he had protected on L2. He shivered, swallowing against the unexpected tightness in his chest.

Treize felt the sudden tremor and frowned. "Zechs? Is something wrong?"

There was no answer for a moment, though the blonde's hands gripped painfully tight. Treize heard him swallow.

"No… nothing. I'm fine," Zechs murmured eventually.

"Are you sure? I can…"

The pilot startled him completely by lifting his head from where it was buried against his shoulder and fastening his mouth to the older man's in a fierce kiss.

That Zechs had kissed him at all was surprising – the younger man had never initiated any romantic gesture between them and that he would do so relieved fledgling worries of another sort – but the sheer intensity of his embrace was near to staggering.

There was no control to his kiss, none of Treize's own graceful technique – it was merely an overwhelming flow of barely tapped passion that left the older man working to breathe in a matter of seconds. Tightening his hold on his partner's barely clad form, he answered the pilot's silent demand as best as he could, giving everything he could of two months pent up desire – and several years  
wistful longing – as his response.

Eager fingers tangled into Treize's red-tinted hair almost roughly, wrapping themselves around the short strands and the general returned the favour, working one hand of his own into the still-wet golden curtain and tugging.

The sharp sensation tore a gasp from the younger man, pulling his mouth away for a brief second as he shuddered.

Treize watched him with lazy eyes. "Good or bad?" he asked, trailing soft kisses along the line of his neck.

"I… don't know."

"Hmm."

Delicate kisses became teasing nibbles, quick nips from perfect teeth that stung only until the general used his tongue to lick the pain away. Zechs fought for a second to keep his head level enough stay an active participant, and then he gave it up, yielding mentally as well as physically to the older man as each new bite shot heat through his body.

Treize allowed a smile to form inside as the blond turned pliant in his arms. He couldn't remember having a lover this sensitive before, nor one who could draw such pleasure from discomfort. The blond was jumping with each new bite, little jolts of his body against the older man's that danced on the edge of descending into far more intimate touches than they were currently sharing.  
Powerful hands were leaving marks along his spine, Treize was sure, as they clung to him through the velvety material of his jumper, pulling them together as close as they could physically be. He could feel the other's eager arousal pressing into him and, for a moment, his self-control deserted him, taking with it all rational thought and all his good intentions.

Impulse and instinct commanding, Treize shifted his stance, pressing his hip into that hard length he could feel against his stomach and was rewarded by a breathy moan.

"Oh, God…"

"God has very little to do with this, my friend," the older man laughed, feeling the flash of humour stabilise his world again. "Although, I do appreciate the comparison."

Zechs tried to speak, failed and settled for shaking his head.

The general chuckled wryly. "Quite." He took a step back, breaking the contact between them, smiling at the moan of loss even as he hid a grimace at how far gone the younger man was, and then caught Zechs' hands in his own. "Come with me," he encouraged.

Tugging gently, he drew the pilot from the bathroom and back into the bedroom, swept the uniform from the neatly made surface of the bed and guided the blond to sit on the edge of it.

Zechs's breath was coming in quick pants, his skin flushed. He looked up at his commanding officer and his eyes were dilated, pleading.

Treize sat down next to him, pushing at him, until the younger man was laying full length, his head on the feather filled pillows. The general toed off his own shoes and lay next to him, bringing agile fingers up to run through silky hair. "You should try to sleep, my friend. You need it," he murmured, firmly suppressing his own desires. What Treize wanted at that moment was not what would be best for his friend.

Arctic blue eyes widened in disbelief. "Sleep? You want me to go to sleep?!"

"If you can… it would be best."

"Sleep!" Zechs's hands curled into fists at his sides. "I thought…"

"You thought?" Treize prompted, watching as Zechs coloured all over again.

"I assumed you wanted me in bed for other reasons than sleeping!"

The older man shook his head. "Of course not."

"Oh? That's not how it appeared in the bathroom…"

Treize hesitated. "I realise that it must have seemed that way, but…" he started, and was interupted before he could finish the thought.

"Seemed that way?" Zechs spluttered. "You were just as interested as I was – I know you were!"

The flash of teenage temper made the general frown. "Zechs…" he began.

"Don't!" The pilot made as if to sit up and found himself held in place by firm hands on his shoulders. He wriggled, attempting to get loose.

"Zechs!" Treize snapped, trying to still him. Though he had caught the younger man by reflex, he now felt it was important to maintain his hold. Once Zechs leapt off this bed in his anger he wouldn't get back onto it, and the older man was firmly of the opinion that his friend needed all the rest he could get.

Holding him there, however, was another matter and the effort was doing dangerous things to him. The feel of the younger man struggling under his hands was shredding what little was left of his self restraint.

"Let go of me!" the blond demanded, seizing his commander's wrists and prying at them.

"Listen to me!" Treize snapped suddenly. "Be still!"

There was a tone to Treize's voice that Zechs had never heard from him before – a ragged sound, as though he were on the knife edge of losing control. He looked up into sapphire eyes and there was a darkness to them, a wildness that wrenched a gasp from him, real fear blooming in his stomach. "Let me go!"

Treize saw panic blossom and he shivered – the boy's fright and his desperation to free himself were pulling from him tendencies the older man usually kept ruthlessly buried. The logical solution, he knew, was simply to let Zechs go – but he couldn't. Physically couldn't.

Zechs used the elder man's moment of distraction in his attempt try to fight free, but though he was well trained, the man pinning him was equally skilled and had the advantage of being fully grown as opposed to in his late teens; despite his trim frame, Treize possessed a wiry strength that the pilot couldn't counter.

The older man's breath was coming in short puffs, shallow and lacking in oxygen. "Zechs, please! Be still!" he pleaded, forcing himself to give the younger man one last chance. The years of supressing this side of himself had, it seemed, considerably weakened his control over it once it was invoked.

Zechs shook his head stubbornly, still fightingthe grip and making Treize's hands slip a little."When you let me go!" he insisted.

The general shook his head, knowing his companion didn't – and couldn't possibly – understand. "I…" he tried, and couldn't finish as Zechs twisted under him again.

He moved with a speed Zechs had only ever seen from him on the fencing mat; the hands on the blonde's shoulders locked onto his wrists instead and pinned them to the surface of the bed.

The older man shifted his body weight, using it to hold the blond in place, and then his mouth was fastened to Zechs's.

The younger man went utterly still for a moment, confused beyond all thought, and then began to struggle in a different way, desperate to free his hands so he could touch his commander as the fire in the kiss set him ablaze.

Somewhere in their tussle, the belt of his robe had worked loose and he was abruptly reminded that he was naked beneath it as one wool-clad leg slid between his own and rested against the aching arousal that had never entirely faded. Zechs broke their kiss with a gasp, rocking against the strong muscle beneath the woven fabric out of instinct and not conscious thought.

Treize renewed his attentions to Zechs's throat as he matched the movement, and then set their pace. Breathy whimpers, familiar from the only other time he had seen his companion in such a state, gave him warning that the other was close to release and he held his rhythm steady, lifting his head to watch as the boy shuddered and pulsed under him, spilling heated liquid.

Zechs threw his head back as he peaked, a keening cry breaking from him. He collapsed, beyond thought, all the tension flooding from him. He was just barely aware enough to notice the sudden viciousness of the clasp on his arms.

The older man closed his eyes, drew a single harsh breath and went completely still.

A moment later the restraining hold on his wrists began to relax by degrees, until he could lift his hands and touch the auburn haired man, attempting to soothe the quiet tremors spilling through his willowy body. He wondered suddenly if, perhaps, he hadn't been the only one to find release.

"Ah, Gott Milliardo... Entschuldige bitte. Das hätte ich nicht tun dürfen, dazu hatte ich kein Recht …"

Zechs stroked one rather sore hand through the mussed cinnamon hair, for once uncaring about the use of his true name. "What was that?" he asked.

"My…apologies. I had no right," Treize repeated. "You asked me to let you go…" he clarified.

The pilot shrugged. "It doesn't matter," he murmured, not liking the tremor in his friend's voice and trying to ease it.

"Of course it matters! I shouldn't have…"

Zechs cut him off by chuckling. "All things considered, I'm rather glad you didn't listen," he pointed out, and smiled when Treize stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head with an answering laugh.

"You made listening to you rather impossible," the general drawled, pulling his customary composure back around himself like a cloak.

"How did I do that?" Zechs quizzed, losing the smile in confusion.

The older man shook his head again, ruefully, and levered himself from his position on the bed. "Ask me some other time."

The fading flush to his skin, the drugged look in his eyes, confirmed the younger man's suspicion and he couldn't fight the cheery smile that lit his face.

Treize smiled back at him, rested one hand on his head for a moment, and then turned away. "Sleep, Zechs. I'll wake you before the ladies get here." As he spoke, he retrieved the blanket folded at the end of the bed and tossed it over his friend.

"Where are you going?"

The older man canted him a mischievous smile. "I rather think I need to change my clothes…" he replied dryly.

"Hmm… perhaps."

On impulse, the general bent down and kissed the blond once, lightly, before straightening and heading for the door. "Sleep."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With ever increasing thanks to my beta-readers, Iriana, Callisto and Jaime for their work and for trans-atlantic chatting till stupid times in the morning. And to Shadowhunter, for so kindly offering to correct Treize's german. Any mistakes remaning are entirely my own fault.

Much to her surprise, Lady Une had found herself chatting quite civilly to the young woman accompanying her on her train journey from the Luxembourg base to her commander's home estate.

Their rapport had come as such a shock simply because, on the very few occasions that the two women had spoken to each other in the six weeks since Captain Noin's assignment to Treize's command, there had always been an underlying tension between them – even when they had found themselves sharing clothes to combat the overwhelming spate of parties they had faced not too long  
ago.

Une supposed that most of the tension had stemmed from her own, carefully hidden, insecurity.

Although Noin was a few months younger than her and very much her junior in terms of rank, she was also one of the best pilots the Specials had – second only to her class mate, Zechs – and her edgy haircut and exotic Latin beauty were complimented by her military dress, the blue of her coat bringing out her violet eyes. On the other hand, Une knew her own brown eyed, brown haired  
prettiness was lost behind the severity of her hairstyle and the glasses she had to wear to read all the paperwork she handled day to day.

The burgundy of her jacket wasn't her best colour either….

For the first weeks of their acquaintance, it had been hard not to see the other woman as a rival, but then, early in this train journey, Noin had sighed dreamily and murmured that she would be glad to see her old school friend again.

A little gentle questioning on Une's part had got the younger woman to admit her secret feelings for the dashing Major and their new truce had been born.

Far from being a rival, Lucrezia Noin had the potential to be the most potent weapon in her arsenal against the young 'Lightning Baron' – few men, especially those so young, could resist such utter devotion and coming in the package that it did….

It remained to be seen how quickly the girl realised that she needed Une as well.

"Have you ever seen His Excellency's estate?" Noin asked, looking out of the window of their private compartment at the snow covered land.

"Not this particular house, no. I've stayed in the town house in England once or twice – Mr. Treize doesn't consider the Dover base accommodations fit for his officers."

"Dover? That's the newest of the… Specials bases, isn't it?"

"Yes. We took command four months ago. It's in shocking condition."

The other woman's slight hesitation about the ownership of the base told Une all she needed to know about where her allegiances truly lay and pieces of information she had been assimilating for the past two or three months began to fall into place.

She looked at the floor, ostensibly checking the shine on her boots, and smiled to herself – the mystery of why the Captain had been invited to this little Christmas get together had been solved.

"How much longer do you think we'll be?" Noin asked her.

"I don't know. The train is scheduled to reach Salzburg in a little under half an hour and I presume it is running on time, but I don't how long it will take us to get from the train station to the estate. I know it isn't in the city proper, so it may well be quite a long ride."

Noin smiled, getting to her feet. "That's alright. I only really wanted to know how much longer we were going to be on the train – have I got time to freshen up, do you think?"

A part of the older woman wanted to sneer at the thought of a supposed soldier fixing her make-up, but other parts – both the more feminine and the more practical parts – quickly realised that it was good idea for the younger woman to look as perfect as she could, on the off chance that the two men had chosen to accompany the car meeting them at the station and, if they didn't, in case  
she didn't get the chance in the car itself.

"I'm sure you do, Lucrezia. I believe the rest room at the end of the corridor had a mirror."

"Thanks. I won't be long."

The girl slid the compartment door open and hurried down the corridor.

Une pulled the bag that served as her hand luggage from the rack under the seat and pulled her own elegant make-up compact from its hidden pocket.

Flipping the lid open, she looked into the small mirror and frowned – the glasses and the hairstyle really didn't suit her at all.

Working quickly, ignoring her motivations, she pulled her hair from its twin braids, ran her fingers through it and gathered it back into a ponytail low on her head, using the ribbons that had been wound into the ends of her braids to secure it.

The informal arrangement, though it was still neat, left wisps of her hair to frame her face and was altogether more attractive. The slightest touch of make-up drew attention to the perfect chocolate shade of her eyes behind her glasses and a speedy application of lipstick so near to the natural shade of her lips it was barely visible completed the effect.

Smiling at herself, she put the little kit away and slid her bag back where it had come from.

8888888888888888888888888

Zechs was sitting in his commander's private study when he heard the car coming up the driveway.

The elder man had woken him almost an hour before, the sweater and trousers he had been wearing replaced with the beginnings of formal dress. Hot coffee had helped to prise the pilot from the most restful sleep he'd had in two months and, taking his cue from his friend, he'd rooted through the clothes that the maid had put away in the wardrobe and dug out one of his formal  
civilian outfits.

The two of them had spent the time since sitting in their shirtsleeves, the rest of their dress hanging by the door, in what Treize laughingly called his sanctuary, talking quietly as they had for years.

The arrival of the two women both pleased and disappointed the younger man.

It was pleasant because it meant he would get to see a friend he hadn't had chance to for quite some time and because it meant that they would be eating soon – despite his earlier refusals, he was now of the opinion that he should have eaten.

But it was a disappointment because it meant that he had wasted the last ten minutes of his life trying to persuade his friend to play something on the piano that sat in the corner of the room, and he was sure he had been about to get his wish.

Treize caught him looking wistfully at the valuable instrument and chuckled. "Look at it this way, my friend, you may not get to hear me play, but neither will you end up sitting next to me playing yourself."

Zechs smiled. "And what torture that would be! I haven't touched a piano in almost two years and I was never anywhere near as good as you to begin with."

The general shook his head. "You could be, if you would just stay in practice. Why do you think I bully you into playing every time I get the chance?"

The blond just shrugged, laughing. "I have no idea! I happen to know for a fact that you actually like music!"

The older man laughed in return. "I suppose I should go and greet our new arrivals."

"It would be polite."

"It would." Treize looked down at himself. "What Lady Une will think when she sees me half dressed I dread to think."

"I can't imagine she will think anything."

Treize snorted. "She certainly won't say anything, but doubtless she will be in perfect uniform, and what she says and what she thinks are quite frequently very different things."

The car came to a halt outside the door and Zechs got to his feet. "Then, if she is going to be scandalised by the sight of you in anything other than your own perfect uniform, I shall accompany you and she can be scandalised by both of us."

The general looked over his shoulder for a second, and then smiled and waited for his friend.

888888888888888888888888

Lady Une couldn't deny that she had been disappointed when she learned that Treize had merely sent his car for her and hadn't come himself, but she swallowed the feeling quickly, realising that he no doubt had better things to do with his time than indulge in pointless journeys.

Any lingering resentment had been soothed away by the scenic views from the car windows and by the quietly amazed looks she was receiving from her companion.

The younger woman had been positively stunned when she'd re-entered their train compartment and had even demanded to know why the older woman persisted in her twin-plaited-scrubbed-skin image when this was how she looked if she put her mind to it.

Une had merely smiled and murmured that her purpose whilst on base was to be the unflinching executor of His Excellency's will – something she accomplished by appearing as severe as she could manage.

Noin had just shook her head and lapsed into silence, though not before garnering a promise from the older woman that she would let Noin have control of how she looked at the dance they had been told they were attending the following evening.

She had thought about refusing, but then she had shrugged and agreed. If the Captain wanted to play handmaid for the evening, Une wouldn't refuse and she was sure that the results would come as a pleasant surprise to her commanding officer.

The car turned from the snow edged road onto a wide shale path and as they passed through the archway of the gates she looked up ahead and gasped.

Across from her, Noin had turned her head and was doing the same thing. "Oh! It's like something from a fairytale!"

Silently, Une had to agree. Though Treize had told her his Salzburg house was a manor, in truth it was more of a small castle, pristine and pretty in the deep drifts of snow. "It's certainly picturesque," she agreed.

Noin was leaning her chin on one hand, her wide eyes dreamy. "It doesn't look like it should belong to the general," she said, without really thinking.

"Oh? Why not?"

"Well… it looks as though it should be home to a handsome Prince and his Princess."

Une raised an eyebrow in a gesture she had learned from her commander. "So far as I know, there are no Princesses living here." She gave a rare smile. "Though there might be one or two rather handsome noblemen."

Noin's face lit up. "I suppose I could settle for a handsome Count instead of a Prince."

Une frowned. "Count?"

"Zechs… He's Count something or other, isn't he?"

"Is he? I thought he was only a Baron."

Noin shook her head, making her short hair bounce. "No. I know everyone calls him the Lightning Baron, but he's not one. Or he is, but he's a Count as well, or something like that. I'm sure I remember him saying he holds lands somewhere in Northern Europe…" She looked away, frowning. "I think he must have connections to the Sanc kingdom, too. Certainly he doesn't like to talk about what happened there."

Une sat back in surprise, her thoughts whirling.

She covered her confusion with another smile. "I spent half my childhood memorising the Peerage system and I spend half my time now trying to make sure I don't introduce people in the wrong order! I don't pretend to understand how it all works."

Noin smiled. "I have it easy, I guess. My father is only a Baronet – everyone with a title outranks me!"

Une shrugged. "I'll remember that – it's one less thing to worry about."

"Yes – the General first – me, last!"

"Ah, but which order to introduce myself and Major Marquise in, there's the difficulty!"

They looked at one another and smiled, but Une was still thinking, remembering.

Yes, there were one or two conversations she would definitely have to have whilst she was at the house.

The car pulled to a halt and the two women waited for the door to be opened before they slid out and stood in the snow at the bottom of the steps.

The great door swung open and Une looked up to see Treize coming down the stairs, missing his jacket and cravat. "Good evening ladies. I trust the journey wasn't too unpleasant?"

"Not at all, sir. Thank you for inviting us."

Treize smiled at her and she felt herself flushing.

"Now, Lady Une, please. As your host I must insist that you call me Treize."

"I… yes, sir. Treize."

"Very good. Do come inside, it's crucifying out here."

He offered her his arm and as she took it, led her carefully up the steps.

They passed Zechs on their way.

Une got a flash of silvery hair and clean, handsome features and realised that he wasn't wearing the helmet she had never before seen him without.

Her heart sank – if she had felt plain next to Noin, she couldn't help but feel utterly dowdy next to the Major.

Her second thought, as her mind processed what she had just seen, was that now, even more than moments before, she had some serious questions to ask.

Noin watched, one step behind and to one side of her senior officer, as the Specials commander, looking very different from the way she had become accustomed to him in just his shirt, came down the steps and took Une's arm in his own, insisting she call him by his given name.

She smiled – perhaps Une, at least, would have her handsome Prince this Christmas.

As for her own….

Noin smiled as Zechs appeared at the general's shoulder, also dressed in only his shirt.

"Hello, Zechs."

"Hello, Noin."

They looked at one another for a moment, and then Noin smiled as she realised what was different about him. "You aren't wearing your mask!"

He shook his head, giving her a rueful grimace. "No – Treize insisted that I wasn't allowed to unless there were lots of people around."

"And you agreed?!" She was privately stunned – she had tried for years to be allowed to see him without the mask, or, in earlier years, his darkened glasses.

"I could hardly disobey an order, could I?"

"No, I suppose not." She looked around. "It's a lovely place."

"Yes, it is. I've always liked it in winter, but I assure you it's nicer inside at the moment. Much warmer!"

"I should hope so. What are you doing dressed like that, anyway?"

He shrugged again. "I haven't finished dressing yet. We agreed it wasn't necessary until we had company. Come on."

As his commander had done, he offered the woman at his side his arm and escorted her inside, feeling a twinge of pain at the delighted glow which came to her face as he did so.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, we veer massively into the Christmas!Treize portion of the story here.....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The carol that Noin sings is, of course, 'The Coventry Carol'. 
> 
> I have based her version on that of the epically talented Loreena McKennit, whose Christmas albums are a relic of an older age where Christmas was green boughs and Chestnuts.
> 
> Check her out: 
> 
> http://www.quinlanroad.com/audio/wintergarden/coventrycarol.mp3

Treize made a point of showing the two women to their respective rooms himself, settling them into the lavish suites with instructions to tell him at once if something didn't meet their approval. Anything they wanted could be brought for them by the servants simply by using the telephones installed on little tables very much like the one in Zechs' room.

Having excused himself from Lady Une's room, assuring her that both he and the pilot would be waiting for her in the study downstairs when she was ready to rejoin them, Treize smiled at the younger man hovering by his shoulder and gestured in his usual elegant fashion to lead the way down the corridor.

The blond inclined his head in agreement but allowed the older man to close the gap so that they were walking side by side.

The general glanced at the tall, antique clock which stood at the foot of the staircase and sighed regretfully.

"Treize?" Zechs asked, puzzled.

"Merely noticing the time, my friend. By the time the ladies have changed their clothes and rejoined us, it will be time for dinner."

"Why would that be a bad thing? I happen to be rather hungry."

"So am I, but from dinner we will have to go straight across to the chapel for the midnight services. Our time alone is over until after Christmas and worse, we shall have to finish dressing now!"

The pilot smiled. "Ah, a tragedy!"

"Of unforeseen proportions."

Zechs found himself laughing aloud as they re-entered the smaller room. "I suppose that means that I will have to forego any hope of hearing you play the piano tonight then?"

Treize canted him a sideways look, smiled indulgently and crossed the room. "If it will make you happy, I suppose I have time to play something short…"

The blond smiled back, pleased, as he settled onto the sofa, and then relaxed into the soft cushions as the older man dropped onto the piano stool and lifted the highly polished lid of the old instrument.

Pressing sinuous fingers to the ivory keys he loosened the tendons in his hands by running a few practice scales, and then looked over his shoulder, waiting. "What would you have me play?" he asked

The pilot shrugged. "Anything… Play something seasonal."

"Seasonal… hmm…"

Hands almost as pale as the keys they were resting on hesitated for a moment as their owner decided what to play, and then they flexed, tightened and dropped the first notes of the piece into the room.

Zechs sat back, listening as the older man played his way through the song he had chosen, aware that he had heard it before, that it seemed to be a favourite of his friend's, but wondering how the slow, melancholy melody could be anything remotely related to Christmas.

The tune, simple and repetitive, died away and Treize sat back, resting his hands lightly in his lap, looking, for a moment, almost upset.

Zechs leaned forward. "It's beautiful," he murmured quietly.

The general offered him a sad smile. "Yes."

"I've heard you play it before. What is it?"

"A Christmas carol from a very long time ago… it was old in the pre-Colony days."

"It doesn't seem very in keeping with the spirit. It's rather sombre…"

"Yes, it is, but given what it was written about, it should be. It has words, but they need to be sung by a woman for their full impact to be felt."

The younger man got up from the couch and came to perch on the edge of the piano stool, next to his friend. "What's it called?"

"The Coventry Carol… I have no idea why." Treize shrugged, smiling more convincingly. "I don't think it matters."

The blond leaned into the older man, resting shoulder to shoulder. "Will you teach it to me?" he asked.

"Of course I will."

Slowly, Treize demonstrated first the right hand, and then the left until his friend had mastered both.

"You always were rather good at picking up things by ear."

Zechs shrugged.

"Will you take the right hand?" Treize asked, setting his left on the keys.

The blond nodded and set his own fingers in place.

They had barely started before a gasp from the door made the two men turn quickly to see Noin standing, framed by the doorway, staring at them.

It hadn't taken the younger woman long to change from her uniform – something which was a blessed relief – shower, dress again in the loose trousers and blouse she had chosen for the evening, dry her hair and throw a vague amount of makeup on. Ready in matter of minutes, she had left her room, and tapped on Une's door, only to discover that the other woman was still in her dressing gown and had only just gotten out of her own shower.

Noin had agreed to wait for her with the men, smirking privately to herself about the convenience of her short hair as opposed to Une's waist length style, and had made her way down the corridor to the stairs.

The sound of the piano had caught her ear about halfway down them and she had followed the sound until she was standing in the doorway of the lovely little room.

She smiled as she listened to the exchange between the two men, surprised at how close they seemed as they sat side by side on the stool, Zechs learning the melody from the general.

She was about to tell them she was there when they began to play together and she drew a sharp breath as she realised she knew the tune.

The music stopped and two pairs of intent blue eyes were suddenly looking at her.

She pulled herself together and smiled. "I'm sorry. Please carry on."

Zechs got to his feet, beckoning her further into the room, offering her a seat on the sofa.

"Lady Une asked me to tell you she will be down shortly," she told Treize as he handed her a glass of sparkling wine.

"Thank you. She has no reason to hurry."

Noin bowed her head, sipping from the wine before looking up and smiling at them both. "Please go back to your music…I didn't mean to disturb you."

The general – it was hard to think of him like that when he was dressed so casually – sat himself on his stool again and turned his head to look at her. "Do you like music, Lucrezia?"

"Yes, sir. I don't think I know much about it, but I sang with my church choir when I was a little girl. I've always liked that carol a lot."

Treize raised one of his split ended eyebrows at her. "You have? Do you still sing?"

She felt herself flush. "Occasionally, sir."

"And can you remember the words, by any chance?"

"I… think so, sir. May I ask why?"

"Merely that it would be nice if Zechs could hear it sung. I can sing, but I have always thought that this carol belongs to a woman's voice. Wouldn't you agree?"

She thought over the lyrics in her head and smiled, pleased to find that he was right. "Yes, sir."

"Well, then. Would you?"

Taking a deep breath, she set her glass on the floor by the sofa, stood up and came to stand behind the two men sitting on the piano stool.

Treize smiled at her, and then touched the younger man's shoulder.

"Right hand, Zechs."

The blond nodded, readied himself and together they played through the chorus as an introduction.

Noin drew a breath, remembering all the lessons her choir-master had drummed into her, and opened her mouth to sing.

' _Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully lullay._

_Oh, sisters too, how may we do?_

_For to preserve this day -_

_This poor youngling,_

_For whom we do sing?_

_By by, lully lullay._

As soon as the junior officer gave voice to the first notes, Treize smiled – her voice was lovely, clear and powerful, perfectly on key, holding all the sorrow the song expressed.

She drew breath to repeat the refrain and Treize winced at the wrong note Zechs played as the meaning of the words began to sink in and he faltered.

' _Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully lullay._

_Herod, the King_

_In his raging_

_Chargèd he hath this day._

_His men of might_

_In his own sight_

_All young children to slay._

Treize used the break between the verse and the chorus to lift the younger man's hand from the piano and replace it with his own. He was aware of the confused looks that Noin was giving them, puzzled by the sudden stillness that seemed to have gripped her friend.

' _Lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully, lulla, thou little tiny child,_

_By by, lully lullay._

_That woe is me_

_Poor child for thee!_

_And ever morn and day,_

_For thy parting_

_Neither say nor sing_

_By by, lully, lullay!_

Together, they finished the carol and let the music fade away into the quiet of the house.

Noin took a step forward and then stopped as the general turned and smiled at her.

"Beautiful, Lucrezia. You have an exceptionally lovely voice."

She smiled back. "Thank you, sir. I really have always loved that carol."

There was an unspoken message in his deep blue eyes, a warning to make no mention of Zechs' continued silence.

One talented hand rested on a shirt-sleeved arm and gripped for just a second. "It has meaning for me, too. A vow to protect a child from a slaughter of innocents, no matter what…" Treize shrugged and smiled, destroying the undertone between himself and the younger man sitting next to him a spilt second before she could work out what it was. He got to his feet, retrieving her glass of wine and refreshing whatever it was that the two men had been drinking before she came downstairs. Leaning over the younger man, he nudged him with the back of his hand and passed him the glass, before settling himself back on the stool and looking at her again. "Do you have any other favourite carols?"

Noin smiled, willing to indulge herself in the music, but her mind was working, trying to understand what had just happened.

Some time later, she excused herself, both to find the rest room and to, in Treize's words, hurry Lady Une up a little.

The older woman was just about to leave her room as the younger came up the stairs and Noin smiled at the simple, dark blue outfit and the relaxed hair style.

Surprisingly, Une smiled back. "I take it you were sent to find me?"

"Yes – the general seems to want his dinner!"

"Ah. Where are they?"

"In a sitting room just off the hall – the Colonel has had me singing Christmas Carols!"

"And he's been playing the piano?" At her companion's nod, the Lady smiled. "He does like to do that occasionally." They made their way down the staircase and across the hall.

Une caught her arm and forced her to pause just before they entered the room.

In the time she had been gone, Treize had finished dressing and the cravat and coat that had been hanging on the back of the door were perfectly in place on his slender frame.

The younger man was standing in front of him, his own coat on, his hands at his sides, his chin slightly raised as he allowed his commander to fuss with the snowy lace of his own cravat. Strong hands knotted the flimsy material with practiced ease, smoothing it into elegant folds.

They were speaking, but Noin couldn't quite make out the words.

Still, the tone of the conversation came across – doubtless something to do with Zechs's odd reaction to the Coventry Carol – and as the general secured his friend's cravat with a sapphire tipped pin, Une knocked lightly on the door.

"Ah, mission successful, Lucrezia!"

"Yes, sir."

He smiled at her, and then turned his attention to the woman at her side.

"Une, you look wonderful. I must come up with more reasons to have you out of uniform."

The older woman coloured slightly, bowing her head and hiding her face with the curtain of her hair. "Thank you, sir.

Leaving the younger man, he crossed to stand by the side of his aide and, once again, offered her his arm, clearly intending to escort her into dinner.

Noin found herself looking at Zechs and she smiled at him, tilting her head.

He almost smiled back at her. "Come along, Noin. You have to be hungry."

"A bit," she admitted.

"Anything Treize's chef produces is usually worth eating."

"I didn't think he'd put up with anything less."

This time, he did smile. "Not generally. For a soldier, he's awfully fussy."

"But he's good on the piano!"

"Yes, he is. You've never told me you could sing!"

Noin grinned – he sounded almost upset – and poked him in the arm. "You've never asked."

"It never occurred to me to… you don't seem the type to have been a choir girl."

He gestured at her purple hair and she giggled. "That was before my rebellious phase. I quit the choir about the same time I decided to dye my hair and join the military. My mother had a fit about all three."

"I can imagine."

"She's quite pleased now, of course, but at the time…!"

"Yes. You do have a good voice, though."

"Thanks. If we're on about not telling people things…"

For an instant, Zechs had the thought that she'd overheard his conversation with Treize as the older man fussed with his clothes – had heard the general explain that the words of the carol had struck a chord in a younger Treize, who, at the age of eleven, had made a promise to himself to always protect a six year old Milliardo Peacecraft against anyone else who might want to hurt him – but then she carried on.

"You never told me you could play the piano!"

He smiled to cover his relief – Noin discovering his true identity was something he had been avoiding since the day they had become friends.

"You've never asked me, either!" he pointed out and danced back a pace or two to avoid the slap she aimed at him.

Dinner was, as Zechs had expected, superb. He had grown up with this chef's cooking and to eat something so familiar was pleasant, and would have been even if he hadn't been utterly starving by the time they finally sat down.

It appeared that his companions at the table were as hungry as he was, because the various courses disappeared almost as soon as the staff put them down. He'd known from childhood that Treize could eat at speed when he had to, or when he was sufficiently motivated, but this fact seemed to be of some surprise to Lady Une, who was more accustomed to a commander who had to be bullied into leaving his desk long enough to consume anything more solid than coffee or Cognac.

When she remarked on this, Treize pointed to her own plate – which was no less empty than his own – and commented that she was not much better herself.

The Lady, dignity stung, replied that neither she nor Noin had eaten since breakfast at the Luxembourg base that morning.

All eyes then focused on the younger woman, who had just closed her mouth around her last mouthful of sorbet. She smiled and shrugged, utterly unrepentant, and broke the tension by making all of them laugh as she leaned over and began to steal bits of the dessert Zechs was attempting to eat slowly enough to actually taste.

As the clock in the hallway began to strike 11pm, the table was cleared and the servants were sent for cloaks and gloves.

Treize had explained to the women earlier in the evening that they were under no obligation to attend the midnight service, but both had agreed to go and now they followed the two men across the still, snowy grounds to the little jewel box of a chapel that was tucked against the side of the house proper.

Noin was surprised to see that the church was already three quarters full. As she slid into the front pew after Zechs, he whispered that the congregation was made up of people from the village and with minor relatives of Treize's.

The chiming of a bell told her that the service was about to start and she closed her eyes, listening to the choir sing the first carol.

Treize had ordered the servants to have hot chocolate waiting for himself and his guests upon their return from the midnight service, and for that Zechs was intensely grateful. The chapel was beautiful and had always been one of his favourite places on the estate, but the same features which made it so attractive also forbade any attempt at modern heating, so that in the dead of winter it was no warmer inside than it was out.

Une and Noin, both looking ready to fall asleep on their feet, had taken their cups and gone to bed, leaving the two men to linger downstairs a little while longer, sipping at the rich liquid and enjoying each other's company in silence.

Zechs had set his cup aside some time ago and was staring into the blazing fire, his body cushioned by the chair he was sitting in, when gentle fingers against his face drew him from his waking doze.

"I should have remembered what hot chocolate does to you," Treize murmured. "It was always the one sure way to get you to fall asleep when you were little."

Zechs smiled, watching the way the fire light enhanced the red tone of the older man's hair as he knelt in front of him.

"I should put you to bed."

"Shall I protest that I'm not sleepy?" Zechs asked.

Treize chuckled. "Yes, I remember that as well. Do you know how many times I carried you upstairs from that chair?"

"I have some idea – more often than not, I was really awake."

The older man smiled quietly, got to his feet and offered the younger his hand. "I know you were. Come on, you. You know what time you're likely to have to get up in the morning."

Zechs took the hand, leaning into the other's warmth as they climbed the stairs. "I know – I remember what you're like for presents. Such a shame neither of us warned the ladies…"

"Quite."

They stopped by Zechs' door.

Treize leaned in, brushed the blonde's mouth with his own and gave him a gentle shove. "Good night, Zechs. Sleep well."

"Treize."


	5. Chapter 5

Lady Une was yanked from a comfortable sleep the following morning by a relentless noise from somewhere close by.

Rolling over under the soft, heavy blankets, she pressed her head into the pillow and snuggled down, allowing sleep to drag her back under.

Just as the world faded away into blissful oblivion, the noise came again and she sat up, disgusted.

"Yes?!" she called, aware that her voice was a snap and that there was no light coming through the window. Blearily, she reached for the glasses she had left on the night stand and, shoving them onto her nose, shot a look at the clock.

She wasn't awake enough to register the exact time, but it was sufficient to justify shooting the person disturbing her that the first glowing digit was a six.

The imperious knocking came again, rattling the door in its frame, and she gathered her wits enough to be able to cross the room, throw her robe over her nightgown and unlock, and then open the door.

"Good morning, Lady!"

Une stared at her commanding officer, taking in his uncombed hair and bare feet, and tried to force her brain to process anything beyond that fact. "Sir? Has something happened? Are we needed in…?"

Treize laughed at her. "Of course not!"

"Then why…?" she trailed off before she could articulate the rest of the sentence. Even at ungodly hours of the morning it was not considered wise to swear at one's commander.

"It's Christmas morning, Lady!"

"I know that, sir. And?"

He grabbed her hand, pulling her into the hall, his sapphire eyes sparkling with excitement in the dim lighting. "And don't you want to know what you got for Christmas?"

She blinked large brown eyes at him. "Of course I do, sir, but…"

"Well, then!"

He tugged on her arm and she followed him reluctantly, realising that she didn't have much choice and amused now that she was beginning to wake up. There was something rather sweet about the Commander in Chief of Oz behaving like an excited child.

He stopped before the door to Noin's suite and let Une go to begin his hammering on that door instead. Une used the sudden freedom of her hands to tie the sash to her robe, aware that the thin satin of her nightgown did little to hide the fact that it was the only thing she was wearing.

Noin threw the door open almost a minute later, looking as befuddled and bleary as Une had felt and obviously thinking something along similar lines.

Unlike the older woman, though, she broke into a wide grin when Treize explained what they were doing and ambled into the corridor without needing any further encouragement, utterly uncaring of how she was dressed.

Treize led the way along the carpeted corridors, passing his own room and then the one Une knew Zechs was occupying.

"Don't we need to get Zechs?" Noin asked, her slim figure shown to surprising effect by her choice of thin-strapped top and shorts.

Treize shook his head. "I doubt it, come on!"

Une followed his increased pace willingly until her feet hit the marble of the staircase. She yelped and Treize turned back to look at her.

"It's cold!" she explained to his look of concern, giving a little leap backwards onto the carpet and hoping her feet hadn't gotten frostbite.

"Is it? I'm afraid I ceased noticing years ago…" He came back up the steps to her side and smiled down at her. "I do have a solution, though, if you will allow me?"

"Of course, sir," she agreed, assuming he was about to offer to fetch her slippers for her.

She was, therefore, utterly unprepared when he bent, slid his arms around her and swept her off the floor, settling her slight weight against his chest.

Noin was almost doubled over laughing as she followed them down the stairs and by the time they reached the bottom, even Une was fighting a smile at the silliness of the situation, even as she was enjoying being held.

Treize swept them past the little study they had been in the night before, past the dining room they had used and across another hall into a second wing of the house, finally stopping before an imposing oak door.

"Lucrezia, would you be a darling and get the door? I would normally never ask a lady to hold a door for me, but I seem to rather have my hands full…"

Noin, still giggling and showing no signs of being affected by the frigid flooring despite almost the entire length of her legs being bare, depressed the brass handle and flung the door back.

Treize carried Une into a high ceilinged room and across it, coming to a stop when he reached the far side where a low table and several sofas were grouped around a roaring fire and a huge Christmas tree, half hidden by a stack of expertly wrapped presents in a myriad of shades. He set her down gently on one of the sofas and she curled her feet up underneath her, automatically accepting the steaming cup someone offered her.

She looked up to see Zechs standing behind her, wry amusement in his light blue eyes.

It dawned on her suddenly that he was perfectly groomed, immaculately dressed and wide awake.

Noin had clearly noticed the same thing and she was standing next to him, glaring up at him.

"Why did he give you time to get dressed, but not us?!" Une demanded.

Sitting on the sofa nearest to the fire, Zechs sipped strong coffee, counting down the time.

Laughter from the other side of the door let him know that he had been right and that his friend hadn't changed – at least in this regard.

He got to his feet and began pouring more of the potent liquid into two cups, and then upturned one of the glasses set to one side and filled it with the fruit juice that was also set out on the table.

Whilst the two women would appreciate and – given the time – need an infusion of caffeine, having sat through more than a few Christmas mornings with the older man Zechs knew that more energy was the very last thing Treize needed.

The door was thrown open and Zechs stood and stared as a barely clad, giggling Noin held it open for her companions.

The reason for her near hysterics became clear a moment later when a rumpled, pyjama-ed Treize appeared in the room, carrying a flustered looking Lady Une, dressed in what looked like a black satin nightgown and matching lace-edged robe.

Treize set her down on one of the sofas and took the fruit juice from the younger man with a knowing smile, a flashing glance head to toe from those sapphire eyes letting the pilot know his state of dress had been noted.

Treize wasn't the only one to notice his contrast with the rest of their party and as he leaned over the back of the sofa to hand Une the coffee, she looked up at him and demanded to know why Treize had allowed him time to wash, dress and groom himself when he hadn't afforded them a similar privilege.

That she had asked him killed the lingering suspicion in his mind that she might well have known what was going to happen this morning and left him with the rather surprising conclusion that black satin negligees were what she normally wore to sleep in.

He hadn't thought she was that feminine.

Hiding all these thoughts behind an innocent smile, he glanced across the room at the older man who was crouched in front of the tree, glass in one hand and poking at various presents with the other.

"He didn't allow me the time, Lady. I've spent Christmas with Treize before and knew what was going to happen, so I set my alarm accordingly. I've been out of bed for about an hour – this has to be the latest I've known him sleep in on Christmas morning."

Noin sat down at Une's side, crossing her long legs and tapping one foot against the velvet base of the sofa. "You might have warned us, you know!"

"I might have," he agreed.

She glared at him with flashing violet eyes and he laughed at her.

"You might at least have had the courtesy to remain in your night wear," Treize told him, coming up behind Zechs and resting one hand lightly on his spine. "It rather destroys the effect if you're dressed."

"Somewhat," the younger man concurred. "But I had no desire to make a complete fool of myself. At the least, none of you can say that you wear anything embarrassing to sleep in."

Treize smiled suddenly, pressing his hand in harder. "I would have given you time to fasten your robe, you know."

The pilot looked around at him, leaning into his touch a little. "Would you? You haven't always in the past. I assumed it was an experience that both I and the ladies could well do without at this time of the morning."

Treize's smile grew slowly as Noin choked and began coughing. "I don't know that they would have minded," he murmured, and then laughed outright as the younger man began to colour, Noin's sudden difficulty with her ability to swallow simple liquids becoming clear.

Une shook her head, feeling a twinge of amused pity for the pilot – it was never fun to be on the wrong end of the general's warped sense of humour.

"I appreciate the Major's consideration, even if no-one else does," she said quietly, and then smiled as she decided to do some teasing of her own.

Treize owed her.

"It's reassuring to know that at least one of the men in this room remembers how to behave like a gentleman," she continued, her voice still perfectly innocent.

Noin spluttered again, for an entirely different reason. Zechs stared at Une, as though he couldn't quite believe what she had just said.

Treize froze and then widened his eyes at her. "Are you saying that you do not consider me a gentleman?" he demanded, a world of hurt in his tone.

She smirked. "Usually, sir, you are the epitome of the term. But, alas, your behaviour this morning has caused me to wonder."

"Oh!"

Zechs bit his lip to hide his smile as his friend went to one knee in front of his assistant and seized one of her hands within his.

"Oh, my Lady! I have disappointed thee! Pray, tell me, is there anything I can do to regain your favour? Anything at all?"

Une fought to keep her face straight as she offered him her empty cup. "You could begin by refilling this?"

Treize had grinned at her, leapt to his feet, snatched the cup from her hand, taken it to the table and poured more coffee into it before she could blink.

He handed it back to her with a courtly bow which should have looked ridiculous when performed by a man who was barefoot and clad in pyjamas.

It was of no surprise to anyone in the room that he made it look as refined and as graceful as he did when he was wearing full Dress Uniform.

The over-the-top gesture proved the last straw for the younger man and he turned away, shaking his head and fairly vibrating with suppressed laughter.

The general stood up from his bow, caught Une's eye and they both began to chuckle.

Noin, for her part, had watched in not inconsiderable amazement as Une dared to tease her commanding officer, relaxing when she saw how well the older man had taken it and realising rather quickly that she was seeing something which formed a part of their relationship – however formal and stiff they seemed with one another in public, and they had to behave that way, she supposed, they were comfortable together in private and they were, it appeared, friends.

Quietly, she got up from her seat on the opposite end of the sofa and crossed the room to talk to her old classmate and to leave the other couple in some semblance of privacy.

Zechs was fussing with plates and serving spoons, putting warm bread rolls and rashers of crisp bacon onto two dishes. He dropped a spoonful of mushrooms onto one of them and she grimaced.

"I didn't think you liked mushrooms?"

He looked at her over his shoulder and smiled. "I hate the things in any form, but Treize is rather fond of them." He picked up a fresh plate. "What would you like?"

"Oh…"

Quickly, she glanced over the food available and pointed at two or three things, and then took the loaded plate from him with what she hoped was a pretty smile.

"They look happy together," she murmured.

Zechs turned his head to watch as the older man and his aide spoke quietly together on the sofa, and the laughing light which had turned his eyes gentle faded, leaving them the shade of a clear winter sky and holding about as much warmth. "Indeed they do."

Noin frowned. "Isn't that a good thing? She really does care for him, you know."

"I know."

His tone forbade further comment, so she stopped speaking of it, but in the back of her mind she found that she felt rather sorry for the older woman. As far as she knew, Zechs had been Treize's closest friend for years. For all that Noin was sure she had never met a man more capable of making his own decisions than her commanding officer was, if Zechs didn't approve of Une as a match for the general and he chose to make that disapproval clear, then he could well prove an insurmountable obstacle.

She glanced down as that line of thought bled easily into another: If she believed that Zechs could have some say in whom Treize eventually chose to be with, then how much more influence would the older man wield in the pilot's own choice?

Noin had been trying to make a good impression on her commanding officer from the day she had met him as a twelve year old cadet, but she had been doing so as an officer attempting to impress her senior, sure even then that her teenage instructor was destined to be a man of considerable influence. Now, suddenly, she was faced with the prospect that she would also have to impress him as the woman best suited to his childhood friend – and she knew that almost nothing she had ever done in his presence would prove helpful, including how she was currently dressed.

Abruptly embarrassed by her clothing, she glanced between the older woman's elegant, flattering, feminine black satin, and then down at her own brightly coloured, tomboy-ish vest and shorts and cursed herself for her lack of forethought.

There was no way she could have predicted the general's childish enthusiasm for Christmas morning, but she should, as Une clearly had, have thought ahead to the possibility that one of the men might see her in her nightwear and brought something more alluring.

Zechs, returning from handing his friend his plate, caught the younger woman's glance down at her outfit and smiled. "Don't look worried, I think it suits you. Black satin and lace really isn't your style."

She forced herself to return his smile, but he'd paid her a truly backhanded compliment. Though Zechs had told her he liked how she looked, he'd also said that he couldn't see her in anything remotely seductive.

If the pilot noticed her discomfort, he said nothing as he turned his attention to his own plate and began to eat.

A few minutes later, a sharp noise drew his attention back across the room and Zechs smiled as Treize finished his breakfast and threw the plate aside in his eagerness to get to the tree. The general planted himself firmly in front of the mound of glittering, shiny presents and smiled up at the blond, gesturing to the carpet at his side.

Zechs raised an eyebrow.

"As tradition dictates, my friend," Treize told him and with a rueful smile, the pilot allowed himself to be pulled to the floor.

Noin and Une exchanged amused glances, then moved in unspoken accord to the sofa nearest the tree and waited silently.

The general took this as his cue to begin raiding the towering pile and he began to sort the gifts into six heaps.

Une looked at him, puzzled, and asked what Noin, too, was wondering.

"Six piles? There are only four of us…"

Treize nodded without looking up and left Zechs to answer the question.

"One pile for each of the four of us, one for those friends and family members who aren't here at the moment and one for all the random presents received from fellow officers who are hoping to curry favour."

Noin smiled.

Having duly divided one huge stack into six smaller ones, Treize turned his attention to the mound Zechs had indicated was from other officers and began to go through them, quickly and with considerable disdain.

"Wine, wine, more wine. Oh, look, somebody thought I'd like a bottle of wine! Wine, wine… Sherry! Good grief! Wine… Well, certainly we won't run out of things to drink at the party tonight, although even I can't expect my guests to drink some of this… Une, I'm going to send you back to Luxembourg with a case of bottles to give to 'deserving soldiers'." He pulled the paper off yet another bottle and stopped, reading the label.

"Good Lord, a wine worth drinking! Who's this from?" He turned the label over and smiled at the handwriting. "My doppelganger, I should have known!"

Zechs took the label from him and read it with a smirk. "Yes, you should have. He does this every year."

"No… we do this every year."

Une leaned forward. "I'm sorry?" she asked.

"A relative of mine, Timothy Catalonia. We were classmates at the Academy and had the misfortune to spend one Christmas together. He suffers the same onslaught of cheap wine every year as I do. The following year, we both tried to play something of a prank on the other and it's become a tradition."

"Catalonia? General Catalonia's son?"

"Yes. And Duke Dermail's grandson."

"I didn't think he was in the military," Une murmured with a frown.

"He isn't," Treize confirmed. "He left the academy in our second year and joined the Diplomatic corps. You'll meet him this evening."

Zechs looked up with a smile. "He is coming then?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, so is Dorothy."

Zechs raised an eyebrow. "She's not so bad."

"You haven't spoken to her recently – adolescence is not improving her temperament."

Zechs shook his head at his commander's familial intolerance and laid the bottle to one side, waiting for Treize to finish dismissing the rest of the pile before he began handing the two women gifts with their names on them.


	6. Chapter 6

Noin took the stack of gifts that Zechs handed her with equal amounts of pleasure and puzzlement, surprised by the number of them and wondering where they had all come from. At most, she had expected that three or four of the collection under the tree would have her name on them and two of those she had brought from Luxembourg herself, given to her by the friends she had made in her short posting.

Instead, the pilot had passed her more than half a dozen and she began looking at the labels, trying to work out whom they were from.

Seated next to her, Une had her own pile of presents but, unlike the younger woman, she seemed to know where they had all come from and was contenting herself for the moment watching the two men sort through their own piles.

 

Une smiled to herself as the thought crossed her mind, for, perhaps, the fifth or sixth time that morning, that there was something utterly adorable about the way her commander was behaving, despite the fact that it had been his perfect military control that had first drawn her to him.

Quietly she began to unfasten the heavy paper that her gifts were wrapped in, concentrating on not tearing it, though she knew it would be thrown away as soon as she was done with it.

Her first gift was from Noin and she smiled as she realised they'd clearly been thinking along similar lines in selecting the gifts they had recognized they would have to exchange. Having known each other for a matter of weeks and not having entirely seen eye to eye for the length of that time, they had both chosen gifts based in the only thing they had shared – their frustration at finding outfits for the two weeks of functions they had suffered through.

Une ran her hand over the blue scarf that had fallen from the paper, enjoying the feel of the cool silk it was woven from before looking up at the other woman and smiling at her as she inspected her new, black evening bag.

Noin glanced up a moment later and they shared a look of mutual amusement before turning to their other gifts.

 

Zechs watched the two women for a minute before focusing his attention on his own presents. Next to him, Treize was opening his own in a flurry of shreds of paper, carefully examining each one before setting it aside. A surprised chuckle from the older man made him look more closely at what he was holding.

Zechs raised an eyebrow – it appeared someone had given the Commander in Chief of the Specials a model Leo kit.

"Thank you, Lucrezia. How did you know I collected these?"

"Just a guess, sir. I honestly couldn't think of anything else to get you!"

Treize laughed again. "No, I imagine it was quite a challenge." He turned to the pilot and handed him the box.

Zechs shook his head, but he took the kit and began looking through it.

 

Noin was grinning, pleased that her impulse present for her commander had gone over so well and hoping that the gift she had chosen for Zechs would meet with similar approval. She bit her lip as he put the kit aside and picked up her gift.

The pilot opened the small box and raised his eyebrows.

"Do you like them?" she asked, worried.

 

The pilot looked down at the cufflinks she had given him, tilting them in the light from the fire to confirm that they were, indeed, in the shape of a lightning bolt.

"I don't believe I've ever seen anything quite like them," he answered honestly.

She smiled at him. "I had them made for you."

"Thank you, Noin. I'll wear them tonight at the Ball."

Her eyes sparkled and he closed the box, setting it down and looking to the next parcel.

He and Une managed to open their gifts from each other at the same time and just as he was looking at the handkerchiefs in puzzlement, a warm hand on his shoulder drew his attention.

"Thank you, Zechs. Wherever did you find this?"

The blond glanced over his shoulder to see Treize's deep eyes watching him, one hand holding the leather bound score.

"Oddly enough, on the Colony before I was injured. The strangest things end up in the most bizarre places."

"Quite – what on earth was an original Beethoven score doing on L2?"

"I don't know, but the shopkeeper who sold it to me had no idea what it was."

"I do, and I appreciate it." The hand on his shoulder tightened briefly, and then the older man sat flicking through the aged parchment pages with reverence.

Zechs watched as the two women opened the rest of their presents, carefully opening his own from Treize and smiling at the book as he read the title. Une's reaction to his gift of a pen was priceless and the meaning wasn't lost on Treize either – obviously, he, too, remembered the sage advice he had offered the younger man before he left for the colonies – and Noin looked delighted with the bottle of her favourite perfume he had given her.

As usual, though, Treize had beaten him on that front – both women were left holding narrow cardboard boxes, which, when they opened them revealed a single perfect flower in fragile tissue paper.

Noin lifted her purple lily and drew a sharp breath when the movement revealed the bracelet that had been hidden beneath it. She drew it from the paper and the light sparked off flawless amethysts the exact colour of her eyes.

"Oh, sir!"

Treize offered her a slight smile, but his attention was on Une.

The older woman drew her own flower, a pristine pink rosebud, from the paper and lifted clear the delicate chain with its pendant of a rose-gold and pink-sapphire rose.

Une looked stunned; more so when Treize stood up, took the chain from her hands and fastened it for her.

"I had hoped you'd like it – it was my mother's originally. A gift from a close friend of hers when she married."

Une's hand was at her throat. "It's… beautiful, sir."

The general smiled at her, rested his hands on her shoulders for a moment, and then went back to his place by the fire, opening his last box.

"Speaking of things that are beautiful," he murmured. "Zechs, have a look at this."

The pilot leaned over and cast his eyes over the box and the sword it held.

The general got to his feet, drawing the rapier with him, testing the balance of the weapon with a few swift movements.

"It is alright, isn't it, sir?" Une asked nervously.

Zechs shot her a dark look – he should have known something like this could only have come from her.

"Perfect, Lady. When did you have this made?"

"A few months ago. I… remembered you complaining that you'd had your old one for years and that the balance wasn't right anymore."

Treize smiled at her, and then beckoned to the younger man, handing him the sword and clearly asking his opinion.

Zechs looked down at the thing and shook his head; despite his annoyance at having been upstaged and the fact the blade sat badly in his hand, having not been made for him, he couldn't deny that it was an exquisite weapon. Beautiful to look at, plain steel and silver from ornate hilt to needle point, and beautiful to hold.

"It's brilliantly made," he admitted.

"Yes." Treize took the sword from him and set it back in its box gently.

 

****

 

"You needn't be jealous, you know."

Zechs turned away from the window he had been staring out of to watch as the older man rummaged in his wardrobe. "Needn't I? Noin believes I should be."

Treize's head snapped up. "You've told…?"

"No, of course not. She merely commented that you make a lovely couple this morning – minutes before you gave Une your mother's jewellery and she gave you the sword."

Treize abandoned his search for clothes. "Zechs, Une is a friend. My closest female friend. I have no sisters and it doesn't seem as though I'll ever have children; who else am I going to give my mother's jewellery to?"

"Dorothy."

"Some of it, yes, but she wouldn't appreciate most of it."

"Dorothy's children then. Or Timothy's."

"Who don't exist yet, and may never do so. You aren't being reasonable. It was only a necklace, Zechs."

"But it wasn't!" Zechs protested, trying not to make the betrayed hurt he was feeling too obvious. "Don't you see how it looks?" he demanded.

"Of course I do – it's part of the reason I did it."

"You…" The pilot trailed off as his thoughts froze. There were times…

"Oh, don't be angry with me, please," Treize pleaded. "It's Christmas Day and I want to be happy."

"I'm trying not to be…" Zechs replied with a helpless shrug.

Treize crossed the room and drew the younger man into his arms, murmuring quietly into his ear – so quietly that Zechs didn't know what he was saying and could only feel the hot, damp air on his neck and the low hum of the other's voice. It was somewhere between soothing and arousing and he felt himself shiver a little as long fingers worked into his hair and began to comb through it.

"Upsetting you was never my intention."

Zechs sighed, "I know that."

"Good."

Warm breath was replaced by silky skin as Treize kissed his throat just above the pulse point and he let his head fall back as soft lips began to trace a path up his neck and along his jaw.

Trieze gave himself completely to what he was doing, setting a mental reminder not to go too far, but also aware that his guests had agreed with his plan to go back to bed for a few hours and that they most likely wouldn't be disturbed before lunchtime. Though he had shared a few encounters with his new lover now, they had all been rushed affairs, hurried for one reason or another, almost furtive in nature, and that was something that bothered the general, given how far it was from his usual style.

He had intended to teach a slower, more involved way to be together to the younger man later in the week, after the two women had gone back to Luxembourg and they were alone with nothing to prevent them from spending the entire day in bed if they so chose, but there was no reason why he shouldn't start now. Zechs, after all, seemed to need the reassurance and Treize had unexpectedly found that he required the other man to be in bed with him.

It was a feeling he had managed to avoid until now, a slow burn that he had felt only once or twice in the past, an intense need to be with another person – focused now on the boy in his arms – that would begin to drive him to insanity if he didn't respond to it. The month until the younger man's birthday suddenly seemed a very long time to wait.

He supposed, as he steered his companion towards the soft sheets of his bed, that their little interlude the day before was responsible for this ignition – until then, they had played this game on his terms and he hadn't removed so much as his gloves. Nor had he intended to, until he'd had a chance to talk to the blond.

There were things Zechs needed to know, things which had to be understood between them first.

Still, there could be no harm in a little gentle play.

Cautiously, the general disengaged himself from his companion, keeping physical contact between them with one hand as he used the other to pull down the covers of his bed. Pale blue eyes widened slightly, as their owner realised what the older man intended.

Treize looked at him, his expression warm and supportive, as he read the faint traces of alarm in his friend's face. "Take this off," he murmured, tugging at the other's woollen jumper.

The blond obeyed, pulling the sweater over his head, mussing his hair a little in the process, and then stood, now clearly nervous, unsure of what to do next.

"Come here," the general instructed and, when the pilot did so, he pushed him down onto the surface of the bed, tugging free his boots and socks, and joined him there, laying next to him and watching him carefully.

There was no question that the younger man was unsettled by what was happening, although why Treize didn't know. He'd yet to really lay a hand on him this morning and there hadn't been any sign of nerves the previous evening.

"Is something wrong?" he asked quietly.

Zechs shook his head, wondering why he felt so off balance. "Not really. I was just…"

"What?"

"Just wondering what you want of me."

Startled, Treize laughed aloud. "You make it sound as though I'm going to molest you against your will!"

"Of course not!" the pilot exclaimed and then coloured, looking away.

The older man felt sympathy surge. "Please relax – I'm not about to ask you to do anything we shouldn't. Nor anything you don't wish to do."

As he spoke, he reached out with one warm hand and began to caress Zechs's side, pleased when he felt some of the tension begin to ebb from the taut muscles. "I merely thought you might like to spend the morning with me."

"I would…"

"Well, then. Zechs, I won't ever do anything to you that you don't want me to – I had hoped you'd know that."

"I do know that." The pilot bit his lip, knowing he owed the other man the truth but not quite knowing how to tell him. "Forgive me, please. I've never done anything quite like this before," he began.

Treize chuckled, shifting closer and wrapping his slender body around the younger man's, folding him into his arms so that they were lying side by side, with the older man up on one elbow to gaze down at his companion. "It isn't so very different from being with a woman, you know – not for now, at least."

Zechs drew breath to correct the impression his commander was operating under and was prevented from speaking by a tender, thorough kiss. He drifted into the sensation, closing his eyes and bringing his own arms up so that he could hold the other man to him, aware, when he felt agile fingers work the fastening of his trousers, that he should feel frightened, but unable to summon the sentiment with his friend's body pressed so warmly into his.

His trousers were dropped onto the floor at the side of the bed with little care, closely followed by Treize's robe, leaving Zechs in his underwear and the older man in his soft pyjama pants.

The blond shivered a little in the chill air of the room and his commanding officer reached down, pulled at the sheets and drew them up until they were both covered completely and sharing their body heat.

"There, now. Just relax. Get used to this for a while first."

Zechs registered the elder man's words dimly and closed his eyes again, blocking out the sight of the room. Beside him, Treize snapped his fingers and the room was plunged into darkness as the lights went out, leaving barely enough light for them to see each other by. The pilot was grateful – perhaps he'd become more dependent on his mask than he'd realised, but he felt far more comfortable now that every emotion that touched his face wouldn't be so visible.

"What do you want to do?" he asked, almost whispering, after a few minutes had passed with them simply holding each other and listening to their breathing.

Treize's voice was equally soft. "That's a question I should be asking you, my friend. What would you like to do? We can simply go to sleep like this if you don't wish for more?"

The younger man thought about that for a second, and then shook his head. "I don't think I'm tired."

"No? What would you like to do?" Treize's words were punctuated by little kisses, ghostly touches against Zechs's face and neck.

Zechs closed his eyes for a second, wondering why telling this man what he had to know suddenly seemed like the hardest thing he'd attempted in the last five years. "I don't know… what can we do? I've never…"

The general chuckled against his collar bone. "Zechs, this may take you by surprise, but there isn't a lot I won't do in bed. It isn't something I want known generally, but to you I'll admit that I have something of a hedonistic streak."

The pilot laughed. "I had noticed that. Perhaps it was the rose-oil baths that gave it away, or the silk shirts, or the two-hundred-year-old wines…"

"Yes, yes! There are some things which give me away, I confess. My point was that I'll go along with anything as long as it feels good, so I'll leave the choice up to you."

Zechs caught his hand into the other man's auburn hair and tugged until he looked up. The older man made a noise low in his throat and the expression in his sapphire eyes was somewhat akin to what it had been the night before, deep blue swirled with something dark and knowing that the younger man didn't understand at all and wasn't sure he wanted to. Reflex tightened his grip and those eyes closed suddenly.

The pilot abruptly realised that his hand must be pulling the strands of hair it was holding and he let go, waiting for the older man to look at him again.

"Treize, I can't decide what we do."

"Can't you? I'd say you were making a good start…"

The general's voice was slightly breathy, pitched lower than Zechs was used to, and there was something about it that made the blond react a touch. He forced himself to ignore his body and swallowed before speaking again. "I don't know what we can do… I really have never done this before… with anyone…"

Treize blinked at him, going still for the space of a few breaths. "Clarify for me, Zechs. What are you trying to tell me?"

The blond knew he was blushing. "I've never been with anyone before you," he murmured. He saw Treize's eyes change a little and tried to pull away. "I'm sorry, I should have told you before now…"

Strong arms tightened their hold on him and the general shook his head, leaning down to kiss him gently before replying, "I should have asked, rather than assuming. I forget, quite frequently, how much younger than me you actually are."

"I'm still sorry. I know you thought …"

"Zechs – Milliardo – shh. It doesn't matter. In a way, I like that I'll be your first."

It was simply the truth, Treize admitted to himself. Though he was cursing himself for forgetting the five year difference in their ages and what that might mean for the pilot, the news that the younger man was a virgin still had sparked a peculiar mix of passion and protectiveness. In this, as in so many other things, he would be the boy's teacher.

Slowly, he reached up, wound his fingers into the pale, silky locks of Zechs's hair and pulled his head up so they could kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot Device! Plot Device!

Treize stared at his reflection in the antique full-length mirror that occupied one corner of his dressing room, settling his ornate coat more comfortably on his shoulders. For all his reputation as a man who was elegant almost to the point of being foppish, he had never been fond of full Dress Uniform. The blue tail coat he wore from day to day was as ostentatious as one could get and still be reasonably called suitable dress for a soldier – it, at least, had full breeches and decent boots.

A knock on his door distracted him from scowling at his reflection and he called for the person to enter as he crossed the room to his dressing table.

The door swung open to admit Zechs, looking perfectly comfortable in his own Uniform, despite the fact that it was, if such a thing were possible, even more eye catching than Treize's own. The general might have to contend with more braid, but the pilot's jacket was as bright a red as his ordinary coat.

"Do you ever feel a need to call out the person responsible for saddling us with these things?" Treize grumbled, as he fastened the silver buckles of his flimsy-feeling dancing shoes over the top of his white silk stockings.

Zechs shrugged. "Not really." He looked down at his own knee breeches and stockings. "It's not really any more uncomfortable than any of our uniforms."

Treize shot him a smile. "That's true." He ran his eyes over the younger man. "It suits you at least."

The smile was returned. "I could say the same about you. It could be worse."

"How?"

"You could be the age of Duke Dermail. You're young, at least."

"Thank the Lord for small mercies!" Treize straightened and picked up his cloak from the bed, swinging it over his left shoulder with a flourish, draping the heavy navy fabric perfectly over his dark blue jacket with its silver braiding and fur-edged collar.

Zechs handed him his white gloves and smiled at him. "Stop grumbling. It does look good on you and you know it, or you wouldn't have insisted on full Dress for your Ball."

The general raised an eyebrow, eyes glinting mischievously. "That might be true. Or perhaps I did it knowing that, most likely, you and I will be the only ones in the room tonight who won't look completely foolish."

"That, too."

Treize laughed, fastened his new sword into place on his hip, and then slid his hand through the younger man's arm and steered him towards the door. "Come along, I have to make sure the ballroom is ready."

 

An hour and a half later, Zechs stood in the shadows of the drapes drawn over one of the French windows and watched as his friend greeted his guests, wine glass in one hand, the other gesturing as he laughed at something an officer's wife had said.

Warmth against his elbow made him turn his head and he looked down to see Noin standing by his side. He smiled down at her, running his eyes over her slender form in its close-fitting black dress, the amethyst bracelet sparkling on her wrist as she sipped from her champagne flute.

She was returning the favour, running her violet eyes over his body with a small smile.

"There are times I am so glad that women can choose not to wear uniform to things like this," she commented with a wicked grin.

Zechs shrugged, much as he had to Treize earlier. "I honestly don't mind."

"You look good in it, that's why."

"So does Treize, but he was complaining before we came downstairs."

Noin glanced over at the general, letting her gaze take in his trim figure from head to toe and silently admitting to herself that Une could have worse taste in men. "I know Lady Une thinks he does…" she murmured.

"Doubtless."

Noin looked up at her friend, taken aback. His voice had taken on the same chill it had held during breakfast and she wondered, not for the first time, what had happened between Une and her classmate to cause this level of animosity.

"Zechs… don't you think they're a good match?" she asked as the older woman approached the general and was greeted with a warm smile.

"Everybody else seems to think so – who am I to disagree?" he told her, his voice devoid of all feeling. "Excuse me."

She watched in surprise as he strode across the room and disappeared through a little door tucked away in a corner.

For a moment, she debated following him, then she shrugged to herself and turned to watch her commanding officer lead Une onto the dance floor.

The older woman looked spectacular tonight, even if Noin did say so herself. Their combined efforts and about three hours of preparation had resulted in an attractiveness Noin had never seen from the stern Colonel before. Her dusky pink gown floated around her petite figure, a perfect foil for her chocolate eyes and rich hair and for the gem of the pendant around her slender throat. It went beautifully, too, with the deep blue of her partner's Dress jacket and as they danced together, Noin could see approving glances from the other guests as they followed their host's lead and took to the floor.

Until the spate of functions they had been forced to attend a month or so before, Noin had never seen the point of all the dancing lessons the Academy had inflicted upon them as cadets beyond being a rather inefficient way of keeping them in good shape. Two weeks of attending Balls at the Specials Headquarters had changed her mind and, if anything, had convinced her that the lessons offered weren't sufficient. The vast majority of the cadets in her class hadn't been able to dance a step when they joined the Academy, aristocrats or no, and would have gone on to humiliate themselves utterly as they increased in rank.

She would be willing to bet her next promotion that Treize hadn't needed those lessons.

Moving around the edges of the room to refresh her drink, she watched her commander as he led Lady Une through the opening waltz without putting a foot in the wrong place or hesitating once, and smiled as she caught sight of the other woman's face.

Sipping the foam from her new drink, she glanced around and saw that Zechs had come back into the ballroom through a different door and was now standing by the main entrance, apparently engaged in conversation with Duke Dermail, who had obviously just arrived with his grey-haired wife and what appeared to be their children.

"Excuse me," she murmured to the people she brushed past as she made her way to her classmate's side.

Zechs tilted his head in the way she knew meant he had looked down at her, despite the fact that his helmet prevented her from seeing his eyes, and took her hand to tuck it into his arm, squeezing slightly in silent apology for abandoning her.

She smiled up at him and then looked to the new arrivals as he introduced her.

"Your Excellency, Lady – this is Captain Lucrezia Noin. Noin, Duke and Duchess Dermail."

Noin dropped into a curtsey, dipping her head and lowering her eyes – in every way that counted, this couple was her social superior, and would have been even if they hadn't been members of her host's family and old enough to be her Grandparents.

"Lovely, Zechs."

The old lady's voice was as thin as tissue paper but her skin was warm through her gloves when she touched Noin's shoulder, granting her permission to rise from her curtsey. Noin stood, smile still firmly in place.

"…a classmate of mine from the Academy, Duchess," Zechs was explaining.

"Why do you young men always go for the military girls?"

Quiet applause made Noin turn her head. The dance had finished and as she watched, Treize bowed to Une, escorted her to a seat against the wall, and then crossed the room, taking the steps two at a time to come to a halt in front of Dermail and repeat his bow.

"My apologies for not being here to greet you, sir."

"Nonsense, boy. It's entirely our fault for being late. Zechs met us at the door. He was just introducing us to his friend."

Treize glanced over his shoulder at the two younger officers with a raised eyebrow before turning back to his Aunt and bowing again. "Hello, Aunt."

To Noin's surprise, the Duchess reached up and enfolded Treize in her arms for a moment before letting him go and taking her husband's arm. "It's lovely to see you looking so well, my dear, and so handsome. Your parents would be proud." She turned her attention up to her husband. "Shall we, dear?"

Dermail escorted her down the steps, leaving the three officers facing the pair Noin had assumed were the Duke's children.

A young man and a girl, perhaps ten years apart in age, yet clearly brother and sister, both in civilian clothes and both displaying the split-ended eyebrows that marked them as related to her commanding officer. In fact, the resemblance between the general and the other man was rather startlingly strong.

"Did you like the wine?" the man asked and Treize smiled.

"Yes, Timothy. Did you?"

"You know I did!"

The two of them laughed then, shaking hands firmly, almost mirror images of each other but for their clothes.

"See, that's why I left the military," Timothy continued, glancing between his… cousin? Noin wondered… and Zechs. "I'm much too fond of proper trousers!"

The girl at his side snorted, drawing all eyes to her.

"Dorothy," Treize greeted, but there was something in his voice that had Noin thinking that he didn't particularly like the girl.

She swept a perfect curtsey, her simple dress clinging to a figure that was only halfway developed, her long, white-blond hair a silky sheet down her straight spine. Noin shot a look between it and Zechs's, confirming that it was the same shade.

"Thank you for the Christmas present, Uncle."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"Yes. I liked yours too, Zechs."

"I had hoped you would."

Trieze opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when the girl stepped past him and offered her hand to Noin.

"I'm Dorothy Catalonia. It's lovely to meet you, Captain Noin."

Surprised, Noin took the hand, studying the girl closely.

"Could you show me where to get a drink? If I have to wait for one of these three, I'll be waiting all evening!" She swept past Noin and down the stairs as though it were her house.

Noin cast a frantic glance at her commander, who was coughing into his hand, received his nod of approval and followed the girl.

"Tactful as ever, Doro!" Timothy called after them, rolling his eyes.

Treize shook his head, giving Zechs a rueful glance. "I did try to warn you."

Zechs shrugged. "I like her. She's a blessed relief from all the posturing."

Timothy smiled at him, gesturing as wildly as he could given he was wearing full evening dress complete with white bow tie. "Each to their own, I suppose. I'll be glad when she grows up a little. Maybe then she'll lose her obsession with war. Your Noin doesn't know it yet but she's about to get the life plagued out of her." The diplomat's smile broadened into a grin as he looked at the younger man. "Speaking of Captain Noin, wherever did you meet her?" he asked.

Zechs's mouth twitched. "As I told the Duchess, she graduated one place behind me at the Academy."

"She really was your classmate? Damn! How did you get that, when I got stuck with him?!" Timothy pointed at the general, who looked offended.

"Aren't you supposed to be a diplomat?" Treize asked, voice dry.

"Supposedly, though you wouldn't know it from the rate my career is progressing." Timothy paused, losing his smile as he swallowed hard. "Speaking of careers," he continued, "I never had the chance to congratulate you on your promotion. Grandfather was delighted when he received the news that they'd chosen you and I know Father always intended for you to be his successor."

The older officer inclined his head gravely. "Thank you Timothy," he murmured.

There was a moment of a silence between them, in which Zechs remembered that General Catalonia, the man whose unexpected death had made Treize Zechs's Commander-in-Chief, had also been Timothy's father, and then they were moving, down the steps and into the ballroom proper.

"Find yourself a drink, Timothy, and then I'll introduce you to the people you don't know," Treize instructed.

 

Zechs led Noin through the dance they were sharing on autopilot, years of practice allowing his feet to fall into the steps without his conscious attention, listening to her talking about Dorothy, murmuring occasionally in the spaces she left, all the while keeping his attention on Treize, who was partnering Une across the floor.

As the evening had progressed, the older and more infirm members of the party, and those guests who simply disliked dancing for whatever reason, had retired from the floor, their obligatory dances done, to play cards and gossip. As the mix of people changed, the orchestra positioned on the raised platform at the opposite end of the room from the main doors had adapted, changing the selection of dances they performed from gentle waltzes and stately foxtrots to faster rhythms such as the quickstep they were currently playing.

Couples swirled across the floor in time – for the most part – to the music, flashing bright colours, intricate hairstyles, painted faces and a not-so-small fortune in jewellery. For a moment, the flow of movement summoned old memories and Zechs stumbled in his footwork as he fought down a wave of images.

Treize caught the mistake from the corner of his eye and turned Une in his arms so he could watch his friend properly. The dance came to an end and he bowed to the Lady, and then cast a glance at the orchestra leader, nodding once.

Taking his cue from his employer, the conductor gestured for the musicians under his direction to breathe for a moment as they changed sheet music, and, in some cases, instruments.

"Lady, I don't believe you like the Latin dances, do you?" the general asked Une as he released her from his hold and she shook her head.

"Not most of them, no, sir."

"Allow me to get you a drink, then."

She nodded her agreement and he escorted her from the floor, snagging her a glass from a passing waiter as they walked.

Having seen her settled, he made his way back across the emptying floor and tapped Zechs on the shoulder.

The younger man looked at him and smiled. "Hello."

"Zechs. May I steal your partner for the next dance?"

The pilot blinked. "Of course."

"Lucrezia?"

"I'd be honoured, sir. May I have a moment?" she asked.

"Certainly." Treize watched her disappear into the crowd and then put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Is something wrong? I saw you stumble."

"No, just thinking too much."

"About what?"

"The past. It doesn't matter."

The hand tightened. "Are you sure? Do you need…?"

Zechs smiled. "Treize, you have two-hundred-and-fifty guests in this room, you can't leave!"

"I wouldn't be missed for a good fifteen minutes at least," the older man corrected.

"And what about Noin? You asked her for the next dance."

"I'm sure she'd understand. No? Alright. Forgive me for usurping your partner, then, but the band is about to switch to Latin dances and Une dislikes them."

The pilot smiled again. "So do I. Believe me, Noin will be grateful for a partner who doesn't stand on her feet."

Treize laughed. "I've never seen you stand on anyone's feet yet. Keep an eye on Une for me, will you?"

Zechs glanced over Treize's shoulder. "I think Timothy already has that covered. Anything else?"

Treize raised an eyebrow but refrained from commenting. "Dorothy, then. You're about the only person here that actually likes her."

"Of course."

The blond made to move away but Treize stopped him by catching his arm and drawing him to one side of the dance floor, apart from everyone else. "Zechs, does Noin know your true name?" he asked quietly.

The younger man frowned. "I haven't told her. Why?"

"Does she know you and I are related?"

"Not beyond the usual story." The frown deepened. "Treize, what makes you ask?"

"Be careful with her around Dorothy; she noticed your hair."

"I'd assumed she would but that's not evidence of anything."

"No, it isn't. But she's European nobility, however minor. She has to know 'Zechs Marquise' can't be your true name."

Zechs took a step back. "If she does, she's known for years and never said anything. Why are you worried?"

Treize looked down. "Inviting her here may have been a mistake on my part, my friend. She's a smart woman and she's in love with you. If she assumes that you and Dorothy are related and goes looking, it won't take her very long to work out who you have to be."

Zechs shook his head, registering his friend's opinion on Noin's feelings for him absently as conformation of something he'd suspected for a long time. "I don't think so. She may well research Dorothy's family tree, but almost no-one remembers that the Khushrenadas had blood ties to the Sanc monarchy. Even if she does go looking, which conclusion is she more likely to come to – the one we've always used, that I'm an illegitimate distant relative of your mother's and so not on the records, or that I'm a dead Prince?"

Treize smiled. "I agree with you that it's a small risk – I came to much the same conclusions. I merely thought you would appreciate the warning."

"I do." Zechs turned his head to see Noin watching them from a few paces away, frowning, seemingly unwilling to interrupt what must appear to be a rather intense conversation. He smiled at her, nodding at Treize before leaving them alone.

Treize came to her side. "My apologies, Lucrezia. Shall we?" He offered her his hand and she took it, following him onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up the opening notes of the next dance.

For the next few minutes, she devoted one part of her mind to following her commanding officer's lead through the steps; the rest, she focused on the half heard words '…dead Prince…' and all the meanings they could hold.


	8. Chapter 8

Having not been present for the spate of Balls Treize had so vigorously complained about, Zechs had never had the privilege of seeing his commanding officer dance with the newest member of his staff.

Perhaps a dozen couples were moving together on the polished floor to the new music the orchestra was playing but the pilot had eyes only for his friends. Until that moment, he had been worried about Une's interactions with Treize. Now he began to wonder whether Noin was more of a threat – certainly she and the other man seemed perfectly matched at the moment.

All the grace and mastery the general displayed in his fencing, and in other activities, were evident as he allowed his body to follow the staccato rhythm of the melody. The ankle length cloak of his uniform moved as an extension of him as he guided Noin's slender form through complex twists and turns.

It was a dazzling display of ability and the look in his friend's sapphire eyes as he and Noin drew their performance to a conclusion told Zechs that Treize had thoroughly enjoyed himself for perhaps the first time that night.

It was an expression not so far removed from the one those eyes had held twelve hours before as their owner reduced the pilot to keening cries and gasped pleas born of new-found pleasure. Seeing it now made the younger man doubt himself as he recalled his friend's consummate ability to show whatever emotion he thought his audience would appreciate most.

He applauded his commander along with everyone else in the room, what could be seen of his face showing nothing but restrained admiration. But as he handed the man a fresh glass of wine on his leaving the floor, he knew the general had seen through his façade and wasn't going to let it slide.

The midnight gaze observed him for a few seconds, and then Treize smiled. "I have to confess that dancing like that is one of life's great joys," the older man began, "but it does have the unfortunate downside of leaving one rather warm. Would you care to keep me company whilst I cool down?"

Zechs looked at his closest friend for a moment, and then glanced around him and realised that he had no reason he could give for refusing.

"If you wish, sir," he capitulated.

 

 

Noin turned lightly in the arms of her new partner, ignoring it politely when he stood on her foot for the third time in as many minutes.

Trying not to wince at the pain, she glanced around the room and saw that Une was still talking to Timothy Catalonia – at some point they had moved away from the edge of the dance floor to a more secluded alcove where they could talk without risk of being knocked over by people coming and going. Noin smiled to herself – it was nice to see her superior officer relaxed for once.

Treize had left the dance floor after his tango with her, preferring to retire than be deluged by vapid females hoping for the next dance. The last she had seen of him, he and Zechs had been heading for the door the blond had used earlier on, escaping the press of the ballroom for a few minutes.

Her dance ended, Noin thanked her partner carefully and declined any further offers. As unobtrusively as she could manage, she made her way to the door and, opening it just a sliver, slipped through it, hoping no-one else had noticed her leaving.

The corridor beyond the door was in shadow, the only light coming through the windows set every few metres along its length. There was nothing familiar about the dark toned marble floor or the deep colour of the walls, a startling contrast after the pastel shades of the wing she had spent the last day in, and she carefully memorised her route as she walked – it wouldn't do to get lost.

Voices drifted down the passageway to her ears and she smiled as she recognised her commander's honeyed tenor and her friend's rougher baritone in conversation. Going to tiptoe, she approached the source of the sounds, her heart leaping a little as she acknowledged she was snooping, but unable to prevent herself from hoping they might be continuing the conversation she had overheard in the ballroom.

Sliding into an alcove a few feet away from the two, she held her breath and listened carefully, a scowl coming to her face as she realised the two men were arguing over something.

Biting her lip, she let her conscience persuade her that she should not be here and made a move towards making her way back to the ballroom, only to freeze when she heard Treize mention her name.

"Lucrezia," Zechs repeated, an edge of bitterness to his voice and she wondered at the cause.

Carefully, she pressed herself into the side of the alcove and leaned out a little, hidden by the drapes, needing to see what was happening. Hearing the blond say her name in such a manner had caused a knot to form in her stomach.

The two men were speaking again – swift, hushed words – the elder's face showing clear disbelief and growing anger.

"I have little patience with teenage petulance," Treize snapped, his voice clipped and cold, and Noin winced for her friend. Treize in full 'General' mode was never pleasant to be on the wrong side of.

They exchanged more words she couldn't hear, and then Treize turned and took a pace or two towards her, making her settling heart rate leap again as she searched for somewhere to hide.

She sighed in relief when Zechs touched his friend's arm and stopped him. Smoothly, the general pivoted on his heel and stood poised, one hand on his hip, waiting for the younger man to speak.

Whatever the pilot's defence, it didn't sit well. There was an exchange she didn't catch and then:

"Jealousy is a child's emotion, Milliardo, and it does not become you," Treize commented, again turning to walk back to the Ballroom.

Quickly, Noin ducked out of sight, flattening herself against the wall, praying that he wouldn't see her.

There was a sharply indrawn breath and then Zechs' next words came at a volume that made her cringe.

"How many times must I tell you? Do not call me that!"

"I shall call you whatever I choose," Treize retorted and continued moving.

Noin frowned – Milliardo? Why would Treize call Zechs 'Milliardo'?

Sheer curiosity forced her to risk another peek and she brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her cry of horror when the pilot lunged for the general, grabbed him and spun him around.

Treize's face showed deep shock and not a little anger as he threw the younger man off him.

"You presume too much, sir! How dare you…" he spat, and then staggered back, the flash of Zechs's white glove against his dark coat the only indicator of what had happened.

Noin closed her eyes, stunned. Friend or not, striking a superior officer was punishable by execution!

For one breathless moment, she thought Treize was going to carry out that sentence personally and her heart seemed to freeze in her chest as his hand closed around his sword hilt and tugged the first inch or two of the blade free. A breath later, rational thought seemed to reassert itself and he let the steel slide back into the scabbard.

The two men stared at each other for a time, Zechs showing a mix of anger and growing horror at his actions and Treize, equal anger and cutting contempt, then the general gestured curtly, dismisively with one hand and once again moved as though to walk away.

As before, Zechs stopped him, pleading with him, and then falling back as the senior officer looked over his shoulder, the expression in his blue eyes chilling.

"Not a word," he hissed. "When you choose to act like the adult that uniform proclaims you to be, Master Peacecraft, I shall speak to you again."

There was a moment's stillness that seemed to last forever, in which Noin was sure the volume of her own breathing would give her away as Treize once again began to walk away from his friend.

"Milliardo Peacecraft died almost twelve years ago!" Zechs whispered suddenly, his voice ragged. "Why do you persist in naming me a ghost?"

Noin watched as Treize stopped in place and closed his eyes at Zechs's words. For a second there was open pain on her commander's face but then it was gone and the older man was turning back to the younger, retracing his steps until they were almost touching.

"Because it is who you are." Treize soothed, and there was something in his voice that tightened Noin's throat, even as she gasped, not quite believing what she had just heard. Milliardo Peacecraft?

Flashes of memory from her childhood seemed to be sparked by the name and by the face that was revealed as the general lifted the helmet away and threw it aside. Though she had seen it before, she suddenly felt as though she had never really looked.

Slowly, she began to recall a winter's evening from her childhood, one scored into her memory by horrific images on the news channels, her parents sinking into an eerie silence, and her elderly Grandmother murmuring 'Those poor children – may God take their souls…' before beginning to cry. Years later, when they had studied the fall of the Sanc Kingdom at the Academy, she had been able to place those memories in context, but that was about the only time she had ever thought of that day since it had happened.

Now, she stared at her classmate as the general removed his concealing helmet and so much began to make sense. A dead Prince, indeed.

Noin's first thought when the shock receded was to wonder how long her commander in chief had known his best pilot's true identity.

Her second was to wonder why Zechs hadn't confided in her.

Her third was to realise that if any of her dreams came true and Zechs one day married her, it would make her a Princess!

She bit off her giggle at that last thought and forced herself to think about what the younger man must have lived through.

Treize, it seemed, was more aware of that than she was. Risking being caught, Noin crept from her hiding place to another alcove closer to where the two men were standing and smiled when she saw that he had taken the younger man into his arms and was holding him gently, murmuring to him soothingly.

"I continue to call you Milliardo because to do anything else would be to lie to you. You are no more truly Zechs Marquise than I am Colonel Khushrenada – they are both merely masks we have to wear."

Gradually, the tension seemed to seep from the blond until he was pliant against his commander, his own arms locked around the slender waist, face buried in Treize's shoulder. "Only like this then, between us," he murmured, after a period of silence. "For the rest of the time, you must call me Zechs."

"Alright."

There was more silence, punctuated only by their soft breathing and the distant noise from the ballroom.

Eventually Zechs spoke again. "You should not hate our masks so. When my mask breaks, I will no longer be able to be your friend."

Treize shook his head, smiling. Bringing one hand up to lift the blonde's chin, he looked into his eyes for a moment, drawing him closer to whisper something Noin couldn't make out directly into the pilot's ear.

Zechs nodded slowly, and then Treize slid his hand from the younger man's chin back through his dishevelled hair gently and leaned into catch Zechs's lips with his own. The blonde's eyes fluttered closed under the sensation, his hands coming up to clutch at the general's jacket as though for balance.

Nothing that had happened in the past few minutes had prepared Noin to see the two men kiss and she cried out, biting off the sound as quickly as she had made it.

There was instant heat between Treize and Zechs, something almost desperate about their embrace. Strong fingers tangled in blond hair, and in heavy navy fabric as they pressed into one another, breathing becoming strained and fast. One of them gave a low moan and the other chuckled in response.

Noin felt her teeth sink into the back of her hand as tears started in her eyes.

Without caring whether they caught her or not, she spun around and ran back along the corridor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that for Poison Three....
> 
> Part four should start posting shortly...
> 
> Thanks


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